


Passerby

by Ireg



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Harm, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-06 10:24:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13409259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ireg/pseuds/Ireg
Summary: Yuri has become content watching those around her, treating life as yet another novel bustling with tragic heroes and details to pick up on. Until she finally edges herself out of her comforting bubble of observation after a strenuous night of poetry crafting, attempting to repair the relationship of bristling tension between herself and Natsuki.It certainly wont be an easy ordeal, but she's committed. Perhaps, deep in the convoluted gray matter she spends her time in, there's another reason?





	1. Passerby

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be swapping between Natsuki/Yuri point of view, alternating every chapter. I'm trying to keep the descriptions and internal dialogue consistent with the characters themselves, so Yuri's will be incredibly verbose and artsy, whilst Natsuki's will be much simpler. Yuri's is much closer to my own, so im excited to try to test myself with Natsuki's more simple type and get something out of it.
> 
> Sorry if its a bit boring! I just really descriptions, and character motivation, that sort of stuff. Next chapter will have actual dialogue, I promise.

Speckled moonlight beams onto the worn, darkened desk. Lightly illuminating stacked pages scrawled with looping, artistic characters forming blocks of poetry inscribed with meaning. The poem moves with the hand behind it, of a delicate, lengthy sort, sleeved to obscure deep cuts below. Her bundled, cream sweater defends against the cold drafts emanating from the opened window. She’s listening… The distant sounds of droning vehicles on the fast lanes fuel her thoughts.  

Yuri always adored this atmosphere for poems. The slight cold of the night, the ceaseless sounds of civilization, and the pale sister of the earth- The perfect setting for self-reflection. She aimlessly parts at her hair as she muses over the feelings plaguing her.  

The literature club- She was expectant of it merely being a place of discussion, of insight. And yet… It’s blossomed. Yuri wouldn’t attest to being the most socially explicable person- She certainly had meager bunches of like-minded individuals, whom she gravitated towards in classes. Yet it was a sort of artificial friendship, born of necessity rather than actual kinship. Her observant, imaginative mind didn’t take well to in-depth conversation or social outings.  

That’s why it was such an emergent, welcoming surprise when she found a real sense of companionship in the array of divergent personalities present in the humble group. Such a band of… Unlikely company. And that was her chosen topic, each of her newly-found friends. And how… They each had a fragile, crumbling facade. Perhaps the reason she finds herself so invested in these girls? She’s enjoyed their company long enough to peel back the layers, exposing their struggles. Not… Too dissimilar to a tragic character in one of her novels, she supposes.

Sayori, the seemingly youthful collection of positivity and blundering mistakes, was the real instigator to this investigation into her clubmates. Yuri knew she’d like to believe not a single one of her closer friends knew a scrap of the sea below- Just as Yuri would hope the same about the valley of secrets she hid beneath her own exterior. But the uncharacteristic comments and actions from Sayori had begun to catch Yuri’s keen eye.  

Poetry, Yuri would argue, is the vessel from which the soul drips its finer details. And so, Sayori’s poems were candy-coated, blissful experiences- With a bittersweet tinge. Yet always, under the surface… Is a pool of sorrow. If Yuri were Monika, or Sayori… Perhaps she could confront the poor girl about it. She had no knowledge of the finer details, and it could easily be unhealthy. And yet… She would never. She was content to watch from the sidelines, always. A reader of a story. Watching what she likens to a match, a vessel that burns itself out lighting others.

It would be hypocritical, regardless. She would never wish for her own issues to be brought to the forefront. Just thinking about it gave her sharp chills. What if they’ve seen the scars? What if… They are simply choosing not to speak? As Yuri herself does.

She shakes her head, setting down the lilac pen and gazing out into the distant blinking lights from the highway. Natsuki… Was a far more strenuous box to open. It was the biting scorn that Yuri feared. Social interaction was already a hurdle, and negative feelings only deepen her want to withdraw. They were foils, opposites. Perhaps protagonists or antagonists in a novel, or a comedic relationship. Whatever the case, it made her difficult to observe.

A small cut. A bruise, hastily and accidentally left uncovered in the rush of mornings. Small tells. The spite was a defense mechanism, yet to what? Were the markings from conflict with classmates, or… Something else? But even with this… Natsuki managed to be quite attractive, in her own way. An aura of childish themes, with the sting of anger, mimicking her poetry. A beautiful, ornate, stained glass pane. Alluring, artistic- But fragile. When broken, the pieces dig into flesh and draw blood.

Yuri blushes, rouge coloring tingling into her cheeks, accompanying the crimson already placed there by the chilly draft. No. Not… Again. The wounds are still tender. She shakes her head for being so easily distracted, chastising herself.

Monika…. Monika, Monika. Certainly the most outspoken and level of the group. And the most… Elusive. Was it that Yuri’s hypothesis about the shared, deeper issues in the club members was false…? She’d like to think not, and that it was just of a different factor. A different kind of difficulty.

Monika was charismatic, certainly. Attractive, certainly. Her steady authority entailed that people flocked to her. Initially, Yuri considered why Monika ever would lower herself to form a club consisting of a few rejects. And then… An epiphany dawned on her. Monika was a leader by trade, with a guiding hand. And she found comfort, and meaning in that sphere, in that life. However, Yuri was sure that a faint lust for dominion over others was present. Perhaps not in a directly harmful way, but a club wherein you are the sole lead must be desirable to her.

Monika had her way with the subtle, crafted art of persuasion, in the same vein as she had her fitness with looping, spiralling lines of code. Always at the lead, in control. Her darker image was not as clear or even visible as the other members, but it was still in effect. Her leadership and tight hold was similar to a chain or rope. People place their trust in those objects to uphold and strengthen, but they often can become overbearingly tight constraints.

Yuri chides herself on her seeping pessimism as she ponders. Monika’s characteristic style has done a great deal of benefit, especially for Sayori. The two have steadily been sharing each other’s company- A trickle, a slight anomaly at first. Now, they are inseparable. Peeks over the thick volumes Yuri pores over catch sight of held hands. Perhaps Monika will confront Sayori, where Yuri refuses. She studies over this. Her emotions are mixed.  

Finally, she removes the bitter writing instrument from her lips, where she has been absentmindedly chewing at the metal tip, and her hand motions swirl a world of letters.

 

_Passerby_

 

_Another day, through the squalid metro I walk, on my routes to grander pastures, to realization abound._

_I shuffle past a splintered match of flickering, radiant light. Passion, hope, and luminance, in a medley of mesmerizing tenderness. It lights the bitter world, soon to be snuffed out._

_And yet, I could not interfere. I was merely a passerby._

_A delicate work of imprinted, stained glass ahead. Carefully constructed fragments of tinted storytelling, perhaps soon to be set into the facets of a grand cathedral. It tumbles, splintering into jagged, rough edges that sink and tear deeply into those caught near it._

_And yet, I could not interfere. I was merely a passerby._

_My eyes meet an ornate set of chains binding livestock from liberation, for the safety of the common people and the prosperity of the owner. They dig and burn, resulting in raw flesh._

_And yet, I could not interfere. I was merely a passerby._

 

The eventual, inevitable draw of sleep pulls at her eyelids to cover those ever-searching irises of lavender. Deafening thoughts. Placing great weight on the mind and body alike.

Yuri finally rests her instrument of expression on the desk, standing from the position she has held for quite the lengthy period. The poem has troubled her. She’ll make a amendment, a pledge to no longer be a passerby. Of course, she could never bear to touch the deeper issues she contemplates directly… But she could grow to interact with them further.

She sets her mind, finally at-ease. She’ll attempt to gingerly deconstruct the wall built between Natsuki and herself.

 

She would have chosen Sayori.

 

She would have chosen Monika.

 

But she has become committed to change. To far-reaching steps out of her small bubble of safe comfort. Perhaps she’ll even grow to look forward to this emotional pain, in a similar fashion to her other tendencies...   

Her circadian rhythm finally reigns victorious in the psychological tug-of-war. She slips into bed and gently floats off, her dulled thoughts remaining on a singular color.

 

Pink.

 

 

 

 


	2. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki's awoken by a dreadful storm, and kept awake by the nipping hunger in her stomach. After a brief tour of the space in her mind and in reality, she sets off to meet with Sayori.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo! Chapter 2. This one's a biggie. I tried my best to make it *Feel* Natsuki. Enjoy!
> 
> Also, sorry about the slow pace. We'll get to NatsukiXYuri eventually, I swear.

Awakening to the steady pounding of rain against her miserably poor window wasn’t on Natsuki’s bucket list. Then again, she would argue just about anything she was put through wasn't on her bucket list. It felt like the universe had a biased grudge against her that reached out into every narrow crack of her life, clouding the pink glitter in a tell-tale shadow of some sort of purely evil disney villain.

Natsuki’s inner monologue imitates Monika for a moment in a sarcastic gesture. Or was it Yuri? The two blend together, a twisted parfait of bias against her lifestyle.   

“How childish. Must you really feverishly insist that reality itself has some sort of integrated grudge against you? This is a pitiful statement, even from you.” A snooty, overboard bitterness drips from the frankenstein combination of the two girl’s more offensive traits. Not particularly true to their actual personalities, but the sour tone coiling in her sleep-racked mind didn’t care.

The distant, ear-splitting sound of nature’s alarm clock and its merry accompaniment of bass drums dispels Monuri’s presence. It wasn’t apparent exactly where those artsy words originated from to begin with; it's possible that Yuri’s verbose, impractical vocabulary had sunk into some distant region of her brain. The idea continues, conjuring up a dramatic scene where she slowly morphs into Yuri. A stifled chuckle results out of this.

She proceeds midway through this thought before another round of lighting and its following applause jostle any loose trains of thought in her head, causing a massive catastrophe. Oh dear. Fire licks at the metal cans as miniature girls with fuschia mops of hair run for cover before the entire vehicle finally explodes.

Righting herself in the dusty, hole-bound mattress, she shakes her head, half-heartedly stroking her eyes in a weak attempt to banish back the clutches of sleep. Her eyelids wearily flicker open in increments, revealing the pigpen of a room around her, the majority of which is obscured by a stray collection of bedhead hairs. She bats at it furiously, each time returning to its aggravating position. She admits defeat, hissing at the idiotic strand of fuschia, unkempt from her movement in sleeping and failed attempt to control it.

Natsuki’s bedroom is a space ultimately created for a child, a past version of the bubblegum girl free from the passionate anger and crippling lack of trust that grip her in a vice today. Faded walls, plastered in the color of a wilting rose. Peeling stickers and torn posters of kittens, fairies, and princesses; some with portions scraped, leaving only the speckled tape, unwilling to part from its permanent place. An overbearing amount of salmon-tinged accessories complement the plaster, a sickening sugar overdose in visual form.

She hates it, loathes it with every shriveled cell in her body. A constant, unyielding reminder, as if the words “Cute” and “Child” were softly whispered every waking moment. She’d take a knife to the stickers and a brush to the walls, if she had the energy, or the time. Besides, the blotchy residue from the stickers is even less appealing than the blissful animals that so clearly contrasted her ever-present sour mood. She groans and chucks a stuffed llama into the far corner of the room, directing it square into the wastebin filled with a collection of discarded poetry.

Finally rolling off the creaky mattress, another burst of realizing light from the storm lights the room and transfers a barrage of pink directly to Natsuki’s retinas. Groaning, she fumbles on a nightstand cluttered with the carcasses of several microwave meals for the mummified remains of her telephone, a cracked, grimy thing. With shaky movements, she makes a small contest out attempts to guess what far-flung time in the dead of night this monstrous storm had the audacity to irritate her with.

2:30? No. Too early. 3? 4? 6? Perhaps an earlier time would be even more troublesome, as she doubts she can return to blissful emptiness while sharp jabs haunt her stomach.

4:06. Wonderful. Those three hours of wasted sleep would likely be interrupted by the distant sound of a enraged drunkard or starving needles, so she finds a measly amount of comfort in the fact she was at least awoken by something that’s interesting.

2 new messages from Sayori. Scowling, she strains her weary eyes to decipher the fine words.

[3:59 AM] Sayori: Hey! :D Can I have your poem from yesterday?  

[3:59 AM] Sayori: Monika wants to start keeping a record!  

A groan emits from Natsuki’s chapped lips. Sayori was a comforting light that brightened everything around her. She’d take her over Monika’s straining personality and Yuri’s lack of any sort of social tools, but sometimes, you really had no need or want for a bright, gaudy light grinding against your eyes; especially when its on at four in the morning and is eagerly bugging you to hand over the most personal things you write to someone who doesn’t care for them.

[4:07 AM] Natsuki: No.  

[4:07 AM] Natsuki: Go to SLEEP. What are you even doing up at 4 in the morning?  

[4:08 AM] Sayori: oh… eheh. you know me! i just had a tiny little nap! i used so much energy yesterday.

[4:08 AM] Natsuki: “Small” is not enough to stay up until 4.

[4:09 AM] Sayori: i could say the same about you, mister! :0

[4:09 AM] Natsuki: I woke up. The ever so gracious, shitty gods of agriculture blessed me with less sleep than everyone else.

[4:09 AM] Natsuki: My window’s broken and I can hear everything like im directly inside of the storm cloud.

[4:10 AM] Sayori: :0 want to come over here? its nice and cozy.

[4:10 AM] Natsuki: Did you forget the part where the fiery banks of the river styx have opened upon this world and are descending their wrath upon everyone, and especially, my ears? School starts in three hours. I don’t want to come in looking like you do some days.

[4:10 AM] Sayori: :( bulli….  

[4:10 AM] Sayori: school is cancelled, anyways.  

[4:11 AM] Natsuki: What?  

[4:11 AM] Sayori: flood warning! :D  

[4:11 AM] Natsuki: I don’t think that’s the appropriate place for a smiley.  

[4:11 AM] Natsuki: This isn’t helping your case. Sure, i’m going to swim three blocks so that I can have sleep I would have lost anyways. 

[4:12 AM] Sayori: i’ll let you bake….  

[4:12 AM] Natsuki: I’ll think about it, okay? I'm a little pissed right now.

Sighing, she slips the antique into the enveloping fuzz of her pants pocket and trudges over to the bathroom, through the hallway illuminated with the shadow of the oppressing rain. Entering, she smashes the switch into the socket.

Click.

Click.

Nothing happens.

A splitting groan pierces through the background chorus of ceaseless droplets, echoing throughout the house of misery. She quickly curses herself. How could she be such an idiot? If he’s here, he’s up. A bruise would only multiply the number of annoyances feeding her bitterness.

As the moment draws longer still, pausing in the doorway to part whatever sound she could from the background, she returns empty. This wasn’t yet an eventual turn of her luck, however. The wrenching feeling in her gut mocked her, spitting out that she was too tired and annoyed to pay attention to anything. Or was that just the hunger?

With the power severed by the current bane of her life, her method of quieting the biting edge was gone. Microwave meals, stacked by the dozen in the more brown than white fridge, were the only real source of nutrition throughout this solemn place. She rationed them, cherished them as her most prized possession. Always leaving a few so her father couldn’t take a sour note.

Cautiously slipping down the carpeted steps stained with reeking spirits, Natsuki scans the living room of unbalanced and tilted furniture and other accessories that would surely make Monika throw a fit. Her vision rolls over the common places- Couch, loveseat, middle of the floor…..

A smile finally wins, fighting back the creeping nihilism polluting her thoughts.

Her father was absent, yet again. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t come back soon due to the flooding. If she was lucky, he’d find some tramp to occupy him on the way. If she was lucky, he’d drown.

At that thought, she recoils back. No, no. She hated him. Hated him more than she hated the room, more than she hated the storm, more than she hated anything.

But she would NEVER reduce herself to that level. She wasn’t him. Besides, what would tiny shred of good would it do? From the horror stories she’s heard cursory fragments of, foster care wouldn’t be better, and could even be worse. She’d lose the club: the only thing dragging her along through life. Even if Yuri and Monicka clouded that.

Gazing out the cracked window, she spies a torrent of rushing water flowing through the street, pooling into storm drains. Lawns with miniature lakes of muddied water, trees snapped left and right to the musical accompaniment of lighting and its little brother.

Natsuki slowly drags her way back up the stairs, edging her way into the gaudy room of rosy shades and rapidly changing into more acceptable attire and a slightly baggy raincoat.

[4:12 AM] Sayori: :/

[4:12 AM] Sayori: wait

[4:12 AM] Sayori: coming over, or the poem?

[4:12 AM] Sayori: aw, nuts.

[4:12 AM] Sayori: you went back to sleep….

[4:20 AM] Natsuki: You wish.

[4:20 AM] Natsuki: I’m coming. Only for the cupcakes.

[4:20 AM] Sayori: :D

[4:20 AM] Natsuki: If i’m swept away into the night, it's your fault.

[4:21 AM] Sayori: :0

Straining against the front door, Natsuki finally switches the deadbolt and throws herself into the dreadful blues of night.

Its surprisingly hospitable for the tail end of winter, save for a nipping chill from the rain and grating wind. A strict breeze that wears against the frail girl, threatening to blow her away. The encircling rain presses in, suffocating her with sound as she presses forward to the dulled lights ahead. The atmosphere feeds her imagination, assembling her next poem.

 

_ Rain _

 

_ It comes, whether you like it or not. _

_ It comes, whether you give it a thought. _

_ Coming to water your farm. _

_ Coming to do you harm. _

_ A balance of remaking. _

_ A balance of taking. _

_ Except for me. _

_ All it does is wake me up. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably tell, im not as happy with this one as the last. I think writing for Yuri is definitely easier, but I gave it my best. Leave your comments as per usual, I read and reply to every one, I swear.


	3. Shard of Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While idly gathering her thoughts in the aftermath of the storm before, Yuri drifts back to a scarring encounter that had brought her to tears last night, before finally being invited to spend the day with the rest of the club.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Uh, sorry for the break? I just got sidetracked, and a lot of life in the way. Anyways, i'll make it up to you, i'll work on the rest of the next chapter tonight, I may even finish it early!
> 
> Fair warning, the main focus of this chapter is self-harm. I'm not exactly very explicit with it... Well, it depends on your definition. I do use a lot of imagery and metaphors to make it feel a lot more... Yuri, but the gore isn't really the point, moreso Yuri's psychological reaction to it and her addiction by this point.
> 
> Once again, sorry! Not that much NatsukiXYuri here, but you can tell im setting it up. Most of the stuff in the conversation at the bottom sorta relates to that.

Gentle, soothing pitterpatters of trickling, pure rain absorbed Yuri deep into the recesses of her lavender-tinged mind. Cool beads of pure renewal, faintly coalescing both their own fluid, iridescent forms and Yuri’s thoughts into ethereal pools of reflection, and creation. 

Yuri’s pensive complection gazes skyward, lilac irises enraptured in the dulled reflections of drained storm clouds. She revels in the calm breeze that faintly rustles strained and shattered tree limbs, forming an artful cacophony that melds beautifully against her ears.

Seeping tranquility oozes from the melancholy atmosphere, partially aiding to settle Yuri’s own broiling thoughts. Sifting, turbulent acids set on a course to destabilize her relatively sound sanity; they flow backward, through recent events, as her anxiety heightens. A small fragment of her conscience secretly yearns to have a composure as assured as Monika’s in this moment of self-doubt.

Nestled in the suffocating umbra of yesterday’s torrent, Yuri was roused by a clash of symbols. Residual traces of the lucid, eldritch imagery present in dreams bled away as thoughts budded. First, a minor observation of the astounding cathartic potential of the wrathful atmosphere, like lighting discharged into the air. She makes a small mental addendum to retrieve her implements and write a poem about the odd beauty of it all.

The devastating judgement of god’s lance resounded with its following chorus as Yuri stumbled, weaving through the minefield of obscured objects littered on the shadowed carpet. Eventually, she reaches the bathroom, flicking on the light. The pearly space became awash with blinding, incandescent white, contrasting the ominous, shadowy elixir that coated the adjacent houses outside the window.

Flush with decor deeply tinged with amethyst, the bathroom takes on a soothing aura even in this veil. Yuri had come here from the dulled pain that had begun throbbing through her arms; she wasn’t exactly sure if it was the lightning or the ache that had awakened her. She shuffles to the sink, unrolling her right sleeve from the violet nightgown and wincing as her trimmed fingernails dig slightly into the tender scars with a sharp sting. Carefully, she unwraps the blood-speckled gauze, reaching for the replacement roll before the sight of the wounds entrance her.

The pale, fair skin of Yuri’s wrists and upper arm blend into the gouged and torn warzone of flesh below. Deep trenches and dulled lines of crimson crisscross and meld into complex, bizarre shapes. An abstract masterwork painted on many layers from many months.

Yuri had no control in the matter as her fingers trembled. Her breathing heightened to a rabid and irregular state, and complex thoughts fractured and tumbled into the abyss below. Desires and reason clashed, garnet and orchid blades holding together with desperate might.

Often, society tells addiction as a folly notion- spite is leveled towards those snared in its thorny grasp, despite the substance of their affliction. Belief is that escape must be easier than victims attest; a matter of weak spirit at hand rather than a pure domination of the minds vulnerabilities.

But addiction is a powerful thing.

In reality, the true nature behind the facile argument presented is a malignant gap in the very fiber that constitutes free will. A shallow exploit that lures and enthralls even resolute persons with candy petals, sprouting barbs trembling just beneath the fray of this seductive rose. The minor decision that leads into this void of hope is all too easy to make.

Yuri, as with many others, is complete aware of the shunning, mental and physical harm that could occur due to her unorthodox obsession. By this point, she hardly attempts to justify it, letting the barbaric impulse route its course within her.

And that terrified her.

If Yuri must conceptualize the single most dreadful situation that could befell her, it would not be monsters. It would not be death, nor torture or even loss of family. She was a seasoned veteran of these things twisted and macabre: she had long since grown dull of those tired tropes.

It was insanity.

To her, the eternal slumber permits the victim to fade into the afterlife intact, preserving some state of their being. Conversely, insanity unwinds and viciously splinters a person’s definition. To her, this life was one of observation and restraint, and insanity threatens to remove all that which she strives for. Consequently, psychological horror chilled Yuri to her core. In her state of penance akin to an aztec ritual, she could see herself as yet another doomed protagonist whose world she envelops herself into.

Despite the formless fear of her psyche shattering, the grazing allure of the flushed canvas and decadent edges overwhelmed logic. Terse excuses looped within her mind, attempting to justify the implications of this action. Unfortunately, she was already aware, in the contrived folds of her heart- she was admitting defeat in this impulse.

Yuri had set a routine, long-established. No more than one daring encounter with the pale shard every 2-3 days each week, alternating forearms each cycle. A strategic venture to minimize the repercussions of courting with death.

Now the simple contract had been broken; Yuri struck again with the biting brush, carving describing lines of yore and present despite her earlier venture that day. She would consider herself strong-willed: greater than Natsuki’s outbursts or Sayori’s clumsiness, certainly. And as she released the shaft of moonlight after painting the canvas, she bent over and wept.

It was a hard rain, a perpetual rain, a sweating and steaming rain; it was a mizzle, a downpour, a fountain. It flowed from mauve irises instead of storm clouds, and it was seemingly infinite. As desperation claimed her, so too, did sleep. And so, Yuri tumbled into the prologue to death, awaking on the cold tiles on morrow’s morn.

Returning to the present recollection, a somber face is paired with chiding inner monologue; her inability to withhold from indulgences had left two terrible wounds: skin, and heart. They would not heal, and they would burn forever as fiery scars.

Finally returning to her senses, Yuri recognized that her introspective fray had left her in the middle of the road. She imagined that this shaded her as a kind of lunatic, and as such, she sweeped the area for observers, attempting to reign in subtly erratic breaths that compromised her poise.

Luckily, Yuri was idly strolling in the antique neighborhood she called home. It primarily was home to elders and vacation homes. (Even Yuri’s house could be considered as such) Especially in times like this, it was vacant. Offering herself a sigh of relief, she continued back to the sidewalk while progressing in her mental dialogue.

The shallow ache of scarred flesh returned, deepening Yuri’s glum expression, before she formed another idea. Sweeping again for onlookers, she lifts at the cuffs of her lilac raincoat and merlot sweater nestled underneath. She unfurls the layers, exposing the raw flesh etched with runes of bloodshed. Sharply sucking air through her front teeth in discomfort, she extends her arm to the rain. Drizzling fragments of water trickle onto the nearly unrecognizable section of her arm, routing its path through ravines and craters of muscle, before finally spilling outward in muddled crimson. Certainly biting, yet soothing in the same regard.

A shock jolts Yuri into nearly tumbling into a gutter brimming with discolored water. Stumbling, she yanks her sleeve down before totally righting herself and working to calm her breathing. Finally, she checks for the instigator to this affair.

A faint vibration hums from her pocket; truly terrible timing for Yuri, and she hesitantly stares at the rubbery envelope of her jacket before delving for the black mirror, considering who would message herself of all people on a flood day.

 

[10:20 AM] Sayori: hey! :D

[10:20 AM] Yuri: Pardon?

[10:21 AM] Sayori: we’re having an improvised meeting at my house…. you’re coming, right?

 

Yuri swallows her spit, reassuring herself that bittersweet Sayori could have no intentions besides being amicable. It was a tragedy, as Yuri was hoping that fate would offer her this day to recover from her deeper wounds before approaching the masses and her friends.

 

[10:21 AM] Yuri: No question. I’ll arrive shortly.

[10:21 AM] Yuri: However, how did you decide to do this?

[10:22 AM] Sayori: haven’t you checked the group chat?

 

Admittedly, Yuri often refrained from unconditionally browsing over the chat. It had its uses, but in the majority of instances, it was simply a breeding ground for half-baked memes and jives.

 

[10:22 AM] Yuri: Apologizes. I’ve been busy.

[10:22 AM] Sayori: it’s fine. natsuki just stopped by earlier for some breakfast, and she wanted to share her poem with me, so i decided to invite everyone so that we all can!

[10:22 AM] Yuri: Did you acquire Natsuki’s consent in this matter?

[10:22 AM] Sayori: ….no…..

[10:23 AM] Sayori: but she’ll be fine with it!

[10:23 AM] Yuri: I wouldn’t be so assured.

[10:23 AM] Yuri: She will be bitter, at the very least.

[10:23 AM] Sayori: she’s always bitter! >:P

[10:23 AM] Yuri: Please don’t generalize people.  

[10:24 AM] Sayori: oh…. i didn’t mean it that way. sorry….  

[10:24 AM] Sayori: wait, are you sticking up for her?  

[10:24 AM] Sayori: :0

[10:24 AM] Yuri: Of course. Did you assume I loathe her?

[10:24 AM] Sayori: i mean…. Well….

[10:24 AM] Sayori: you two aren’t exactly the most uh, social.

[10:24 AM] Yuri: I’m working on it. I’ll be making first contact today.

[10:25 AM] Sayori: you make it sound like she’s an alien! 

[10:25 AM] Sayori: you’ve talked to her at least a little bit before.

[10:25 AM] Sayori: actually, wait.

[10:25 AM] Sayori: i should draw that! hehe. natsuki from neptune.

[10:25 AM] Yuri: Not in this way, I have not. Dialogue from yore has largely only been terse exchanges when the mood declared it. Such as poem exchange.

[10:25 AM] Yuri: And I doubt drawing her as a creature from another planet would put you in her good books.

[10:25 AM] Sayori: i’m ALWAYS in her good books! i always let her bake and have food!

[10:25 AM] Yuri: When you don’t ravishly devour it first?

[10:25 AM] Sayori: >:0! durr hurr.

[10:26 AM] Sayori: you’re so grumpy! i should draw you as eeyore. 

[10:26 AM] Sayori: wait no, a racoon! didn’t you have a really long poem about a racoon last week?

[10:26 AM] Yuri: If that is your perception on the matter, I will not dissuade it.  

[10:26 AM] Sayori: wait, was it not about racoons?

[10:26 AM] Yuri: Farewell, Sayori. I’ll get ready for my departure.

[10:26 AM] Sayori: wait, you didn’t answer me!

[10:26 AM] Sayori: >:\

[10:26 AM] Sayori: why does everyone do this to me? ლ(ಠ益ಠლ)

 

And with that, Yuri pressed her face deep into the lilac coils of her scarf, and set off to gather her things from her home, as the walls of rain closed in on her.

 

_ Shard of Moonlight _

 

_ Shard of moonlight, dispel the wind. _

_ Shard of moonlight, reflect the light into my eyes. _

_ Shard of moonlight, fall up from below. _

_ Shard of moonlight, bound with my own shadow. _

_ Shard of moonlight, it starts but doesn’t stop. _

_ Shard of moonlight, _

_ Draw me in. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Yuri is really a tragic character, huh? Honestly, all of the dokis are. But if you're looking at Yuri from under the same lens I am, its honestly really tragic that in the game she ended up going nuts and stabbing herself to death. It's so saddening whenever you pay attention in-game and she talks about trying to stop herself, but how she eventually just couldn't.
> 
> A couple things! First off, sorry for not getting to the actual NatsukiXYuri. Next chapter, I swear. Originally, this was intended to be the next chapter and this chapter combined, but the amount of diction I filled into the whole addiction explanation, the conversation, and the rain details (I cant help it, I just love rain...) Just meant that I really should separate this.
> 
> I'm headcanoning that Sayori can draw. Why? Eh.... I just thought it would be pretty fun. I needed someone to, anyways. Maybe i'll have Yuri draw, too...? She'd probably be more into abstract pieces, probably. That's what the whole extended metaphor about her arm was about, anyways.
> 
> And also.... The game is supposed to take place in japan (From Monika herself in the ending, she says. But she also says its kinda contradictory, so idunno?) But i'm not a weeb by any stretch of the imagination (This and jojo) so unfortunately i'm going to have to base the setting off good ol' USA. Or maybe Germany? I have experience with both, so whatever. That's why Yuri lives in such a distinctly American neighborhood, with the whole neighborhood of sburban houses that were all made around the 50-70's. That's kind of where I live, but Yuri's neighborhood would be much more affluent than mine, considering her parents are pretty well-off. (Maybe i'll touch on that next chapter?)
> 
> Regardless, hope you enjoyed! Next chapter is also poem sharing, so it'll be a long one considering i'll have natsuki react to each and every one. Also means i'll make poems for Monika and Sayori, but I already have Sayori's done. 
> 
> (Oh, and i'm getting back to comments. Replying to them, that is.)


	4. Balloon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki idly passes time in Sayori's house, before an unexpected meeting is held. Chaos ensues, and Yuri somehow works up the courage to ask Natsuki to discuss literature with her.
> 
> Features: Spoopy monika quotes (woooo) A grand total of three (Countem) three brand new poems (Or 4, if you count me reposting passerby) So much gosh darn dialogue, internal monologuing, and a Sayori jumpscare (Its more adorable than what you're thinking of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one.... Its real big. On my masterdocument on google docs, it says its about twice the length of all other chapters combined, but I dont think thats entirely accurate because most of it is my spacing between dialogue. Regardless, its still real big, and lays a little lighter on the complex imagery and descriptions, considering the brunt of it is pure dialogue. Don't go easy on me with criticism: I can feel it in my bones that this one is definitely worse than the previous ones (I don't think i'll ever top "Passerby", but still) Dialogue is probably my weakest aspect.
> 
> Fun facts:  
> I used to have a lot more descriptors after dialogue in this. However, they got taken out after they got repetitive. A lot of them were also overly dramatic about Natsuki's anger (Although I did leave a little of that in)  
> This chapter was originally intended to be the total meeting. However, I made the dialogue longer and longer (This seems to happen a lot) And then added in the Spades game for an additional scene.  
> I couldn't think of a good atmospheric track for this (Damn you, tabletopaudio! No tracks for "just regular godamn home atmosphere with some music in there"  
> This is the only chapter not to have an entire paragraph dedicated to describing the rain.

Sayori’s abode could best be described as oddly melancholy in a very perturbed way; to a certain extent it simply radiated childish wonder, like the girl who owned it: coming over meant hastily cleaned kitchens, and bedrooms that were still comparable to a trainwreck.This quickly set Monika off into a storm of expeditious sorting, silence, and the occasional disappointed stare of death at Sayori, who turned away and smiled bashfully. (Of course, she never helped Monika out, that devil….)

But beneath the sunshine decor, mounds of stuffed animals, and littered candy wrappers, was a distinct aura of sadness that crept from shallow cracks all around. With the frequency that Natsuki came here as a respite from her home life, she had slowly begun to catch the place a few times when Sayori did not have time or energy to make the place inspection-ready for her friends. Well, Sayori’s version of inspection-ready, anyways.

In this state, the mountains of plushies wept dust from every squeeze from sitting without use. Dishes were perilously placed into stacks upon stacks of leaning towers in the sink- slowly rotting- and wrappers and an ever-increasing array of crusty cups completely obscured the coffee table from view. In the midst of all this clutter, sometimes Sayori’s bed was in perfect order: even with a cake of dust coating her nightstand. Only after a few visits had these tells even become apparent to Natsuki.

When Natsuki questioned Sayori the strawberry about the matter, the red tint of her hair spread through her face like water flowing through a glass. She dejectedly muttered a shallow excuse about laziness, before scurrying off to cook breakfast. To Natsuki, it never occurred exactly why Sayori kept the place in such a miserable state when the club wasn’t around, or why she was so bashful about it. Sure, Natsuki’s room or belongings weren’t spotless: but she had never allowed anything to accelerate to the level that she had seen it here.

When Natsuki would plan her visits in advance, she arrived to bundles of hugs, an entire pre-prepared meal,  an agenda for that night’s activities, and a (Somewhat) spotless house. Yet when she arrived unexpectedly with shallow wounds from fights or father, Miss candy apple came to the door with half-lidded eyes drowned in bags, frazzled hair, and a horrid house. Even in this state, she never refused Natsuki’s company; she was grateful, but the matter was still quite puzzling to her.

Currently, Natsuki was lounging peacefully in the games room; a conglomeration of about a dozen scattered bean bags in varying shades, textures, and sizes: all facing in an uneven semicircle around a multicolored, spiral rug and a somewhat impressive collection of games systems against the back wall. When Sayori was asked why she had acquired such an extensive collection of beanbags, she exclaimed in her usual cheerful demeanor that she had a phase where she collected them. Oddly enough, she gave this answer to just about every weird group of objects she seemed to have an abundance of: stuffed animals, board games, jars, and multi colored cups, just to name a few.

Natsuki was burrowed casually on a beanbag, nestled into a manga she had now read quite a number of times. Although she enjoyed this volume, it was not by choice that she was repeating reading it yet again; it was a crisp, new copy that she had gifted to the bundle of happiness as a birthday gift. Considering the majority of her collection was in the clubroom (Save for a few sparse issues tucked away in her bedroom) This manga became the only of its kind in Sayori’s house.

Originally, Natsuki was appalled when she happened upon all of the gifts Sayori was given, including hers, sitting untouched on an isolated shelf. She was quickly angered, with a barrage of lashing words against Sayori, who took the heat and apologized duly. 

Later, Natsuki came to the conclusion that in a very unorthodox way, she was honoring her friends gifts by placing them on some sort of display. It was very odd to her: it wasn’t even something she had begun to consider, especially from Sayori, who seemed to be the most normal compared to the oddballs that were Monika and Yuri. Natsuki ended up apologizing, but she never quite knew why Sayori treated what were admittedly somewhat poor gifts with such fervor. After all, she didn’t even read manga…

Natsuki realized that she had drifted off into this line of pondering rather than actually reading the manga while Sayori fixed lunch: the plot didn’t exactly have the same bizarre spark to it that she had adored the first few reads. But luckily enough, a bundle of poppy hair poked its way over the crest of the paperback, signaling that miss sunshine herself had come. She was peeking around the fold of the room, with a strained smile that made it all too apparent that she had made an error. What was it this time? Setting lunch on fire? Accidentally exchanging the word “Manga” for “Hentai? Publishing Yuri’s poem in the school newspaper under Natsuki’s name?

“hey…. natsuki!” Sayori slowly said in an upbeat, forced tone that had a hint of insecurity to it; Sayori’s words even further confirmed Natsuki’s suspicions: they simply oozed a false, casual nature, embedded with a small thread of guilt.

“What did you do?” Natsuki replied, pairing her disappointed words with an equally upset, yet unsurprised, accent.

“well…. i invited everyone else over for an impromptu meeting! and i just wanted to check with you. you’re okay with it, right?” Still, the phrases had a deceitful vibe that clung to them.

“You already went through with it, didn’t you?” Natsuki questioned, lowering the comic from her face in order to level an unamused stare at Sayori.

“uh….” The long pause while Sayori thought and the expression of shock on her face after Natsuki revealed Sayori’s ploy told Natsuki everything she needed to know.

Natsuki was certain that if this were any other agitator, the water in her kettle of frustration would have long since evaporated from the scathing heat rising within. She would have daggers of malice, scythes of insults, and poisons of bitterness. If the subject was especially loathsome, she might even have physical rebuttals to accompany her verbal ones.

But this was Sayori. Not only was this kind of behavior usual, (So usual, in fact, that Natsuki might be even more suspicious if something didn’t occur) but Sayori was honestly the worst target for any of Natsuki’s spite, no matter the crime she had committed. Natsuki would consider Sayori to be one of her best friends (Although she would never admit it) and the constant flow of positivity ebbing from the blush girl simply meant that any attacks she could toss would be melted and have no effect. It was irritating in its own right; there wasn’t the punch, or the victim’s  response to her rage that made it so satisfying to her. All she got was apologizes.

“I’m really annoyed, but whatever. How long till they are here?” Natsuki admitted defeat before the ultimate defense: Sayori’s optimism.

“oh yeah…. about that….”

Oh no.

That wasn’t the end to it?

“the reason i told you about it know is that Yuri is kind of…” Oh sweet lord.

“outside right now….” Have Mercy.

Biting her lip forcefully to prevent herself from having a small outburst, Natsuki gritted her teeth and began contemplating breaking the rule that she mustn't lash out at Sayori.

“Okay. Mmmm-hmmmm. Yup. Yeeeeeeeeeeeeep.” Natsuki spat out in a half-distraught, half-sarcastic mood.

“Can you tell her to wait for a little bit?” Natsuki was going to steal every last moment of free time she had. Yuri wasn’t that bad, but…. She had to try anyways. It was nice, just hanging out with Sayori.

“she’s been waiting for a couple of minutes already….” Sayori trailed off, somewhat downcast about the question.

“Fine. Fine. Whatever. Open the gates. Release the kraken.” Natsuki flippantly ended with, covering her face with the manga to emphasize that the conversation was over.

Out of the corner of her eye, Natsuki watched as Sayori gazed down at the ground in regret, then jumped up out of realization as she heard the doorbell “ding” with a resounding echo throughout the house, rushing off to answer her waiting guest. 

It's not that Natsuki necessarily “Loathed” Yuri….  It was simply the fact that, when she was around, Yuri reminded Natsuki of everything she wasn't. Calm, smart, tall, mature…. Elegant. It was hard for Natsuki not to take anything Yuri spouted as an insult, simply because she was on a level unattainable to Natsuki. When she said “Cute”, it was like Yuri was mocking her. If she talked about her writing being “simple”, it was like Yuri was calling her childish. She knew that Yuri didn’t mean it that way, yet it was nearly impossible not to take it that way. It was infuriating, which only furthered her irrational spite at the poor girl.

That’s why Natsuki had preferred to simply avoid contact in recent memory. It stopped her from becoming flustered, and it also meant that Yuri could read in peace. Still, some interaction was required, and as such, incidents still happened.

Disrupting this thought, the girl of the hour arrived; searching, glancing expression that surveyed the room, briefly passing over Natsuki, before turning her stark, heather eyes back to Sayori. At the same time, she was removing her rubbery raincoat: leaving the rouge sweater fitting her form. It honestly provoked Natsuki even more. She must be burning up in heat; Sayori kept her house unbearably toasty. What was she trying to prove? Was she trying to be more “Mature” than everyone else by showing less skin? Just wear a T-shirt like everyone else, gosh.

“monika should be here in a bit! she said she has a program due to coding tomorrow, and she’s going to use as much time as possible to get it perfect.” Sayori explained gleefully.

“i have to go finish lunch… just, er…. hang out for a bit, i guess?” Sayori questioningly said, realizing all too late that she had left Yuri and Natsuki to their own devices, and expected them to interact willingly. She touches her fingers together and smiles awkwardly before dashing off.

Natsuki tries to envelop herself back into the characters of her manga. She knows exactly what Yuri’s next move is; she’s going to pick the bean bag directly opposite to Natsuki’s, granting herself the largest distance away, then extract a hefty tome from her satchel and begin reading.

Natsuki will even predict the steps. One, two, three- she must be getting close now- four….

….What?

Just as expected, the sound of Yuri sitting down, the cloth of the beanbag squishing and welcoming her form came on the fourth step. However….

The sound was directly adjacent to Natsuki!

Breaking her gaze away from the pages, Natsuki peeked around the left side of the book to rectify that, yes: Yuri had taken a seat on the beanbag directly next to Natsuki, and she had not been hearing some sort of illusion. She sat her stitched, umbra satchel to the right before retrieving a lofty hardback, finding her place, and beginning to read.

What was she trying to pull?

Natsuki pulls down her manga, giving Yuri a long, suspicious stare.

“What are you doing.” 

“Hmmmm?” Yuri replied, setting her book down and turning to Natsuki.

“You sat right next to me.” Natsuki drones out in a slightly scathing tone.

“And?” Yuri countered, raising one eyebrow as she marks her place in the book she’s reading, closing it.

“Why.” The word is brief, yet its honed sting parts even the air into pieces.

“W-well, I wanted to talk with you.” Yuri’s resolute calm is quickly broken as she stutters, turning away to gather her thoughts. She never really was very good at talking; Natsuki’s guess was that she liked to analyze her options before acting, and the faster pace of verbal communication wasn’t as easy as the stark preparedness of letters over text.

“What is it? Something with the club?” This situation had really seemed out of the ordinary for a second, but it was yet again just another instance where Yuri was forced to confront her about something she didn't want to.

“Err…. No. I just wanted… To converse. About… Literature. And manga, if you wanted. We’re friends, right?” Yuri’s words were sopping with unsure vocalization; it was very clear this was uncomfortable for her, yet she still was going through with it.

Why?

And she had to ask  _ that _ question. Really,  Yuri? Natsuki honestly felt like Yuri had just butted her into a corner. What was she supposed to answer? “No, we aren’t friends.” Of course not. Which only left her to begrudgingly say yes, which would lead into whatever Yuri was trying to pull here.

“O-” Natsuki begins her sentence, but the rest is quickly drowned out by Yuri’s sudden exclamation.

“Not that i’m implying that Manga isn’t literature, of course. I just… Errr, grouped them separately because I wanted to denote specific meaning to your interests.” Yuri blurted out, words crashing into one another in a conga line of traffic accidents.

Honestly, Natsuki didn’t even consider that, but this was just more fuel for her theory that Yuri overanalyzed things: and it made her social skills horrendous. Who catches something like that, then interrupts the flow of your conversation, immediately stopping your partner’s reply?

“ _ Sigh _ Of course we’re friends, Yuri. This just seems really weird for you to be doing something like this. What did you want to talk about?” Natsuki really tried to put as much sincerity as she could into that sentence, but her scorn managed to drip through the bluff.

“And please don’t interrupt me like that.” She added, attempting to seem merely mildly annoyed, although it came off as much more than that.

“Right. Right. Please excuse my ineptitude.” Yuri said, breathing in sharply to control her emotions.

“What are you reading?” She tacked on, inquisitively peeking around the cover of the manga to read the title.

Natsuki impulsively pulled the cover away from her prying eyes, then realized how much of a lousy “Friend” She was being and returned it into her line of sight.

It was Parfait girls, of course. It was her favorite, even if she had to admit that its tacky nature was definitely contributing to her image as a “Cute” girl. She just simply couldn’t get enough of the simple characters…. Living. Having great lives. It was a fantasy, after all. They all had loving parents, boyfriends, and somehow had a force of friendship that transcended any situation. It was her deepest desire.

“Oh…. Parfait girls? I’ve seen you read that a lot.” Yuri said, still peeking all the way around the cover. It made her look kind of silly, honestly.

“I… Read other manga. And books, you know.” Natsuki pouted, in a melody of insecurity and ferocity.

“O-of course. Of course. I wasn’t, implying anything…” Yuri faintly replied, pulling back from the cover and righting herself.

In this conversation, Yuri would lull in and out of states of comfort, rocking between a shy repose and sagacious insight; when inquiring Natsuki about her interests: she wasn’t stuttering or second-guessing at all. And then Natsuki realized that it was her own grating attitude toxifying Yuri’s composure. She chided herself: Yuri was trying. She could, in turn work to be  _ less _ trying and taxing.

“You already said that, dummy.” Natsuki laughed, setting out to lighten the mood, but it came off as a little coarse: and Yuri gazed at her with a bead of anxiety locked in her irises.

That stare surely compounded Natsuki’s self-loathing. Here she was, claiming superiority to Yuri in social exchange: before derailing the only meaningful conversation the pair has shared in weeks. 

“Heh…” Yuri seemed to know where Natsuki was trying to go with this errant train of conversation. She began parting at her hair: some sort of relief mechanism for times of stress. Was Natsuki the source of that?

“W-what’s the synopsis?” 

It didn’t help that she would prefer to explain any other manga over this one. Sure, parfait girls was a favorite of her own. But compared to Yuri’s vexing and articulate tomes that could shatter sound itself if dropped from their sheer heft, she seemed to be out of her element.

“Just… High-school stuff, I guess.” Natsuki admitted, looking away to avoid eye-contact.

“It’s a lot more…. Developed than it seems.” She tacked on after a brief pause, hoping to dissuade any claims at a childish nature.

“I’m sure it is.” Was that sarcasm? It was grueling to divine with Yuri’s flowing, melodic tune of a voice. Sophisticated silk. Beautiful, but still serving to drive home the squeaking flute Natsuki heard every time she piped up.

“Yeah. I mean, obviously the relationships are good.” Natsuki had to admit, they really weren’t. But her voice still showed some aggressive arrogance to it: she couldn’t appear weak.

“Then, do you mind if I read with you?” 

“N-no!” Natsuki couldn’t help it as she cried out instinctively. She couldn’t let Yuri see just how elementary her favorite manga was.

Yuri simply stopped, compulsively combing through her flowing river of orchid hair. Her expression was locked at the furthest wall, gaping past it into the obscured horizon.

“I just want you to read something else. What do you like?” Desperately, Natsuki attempted to appear less tiresome to her timid friend.

“Oh. I… Don’t think that’s entirely germane. I wanted to read what you do, expand my horizons…”

“I just don’t think you’d like it, okay?” 

“You like horror, right? Suspense?”

“Well, yes. However, I was willing to read just about… Anything. I’m sure if you bear it in such high regard as to peruse it multiple times, it should be enjoyable. I know the series that I hold in high esteem I would be ecstatic to share with anyone.” Once again, almost like a different person. Eloquent, calm, and perfectly confident.

“No, really. Why don’t we just go to the bookstore or something? You can even pick out something for me. Not too thick, though.” Despite her warning, Natsuki was assured that the girth of Yuri’s choice would still be daunting, but she was willing to bear it if Yuri put all this effort into wading through the raging ocean that was Natsuki’s stinging spite.

“....I’d like that. Anywhere in particular? After the meeting?”

“Yeah. You choose the bookstore.” Natsuki was actually embarrassed that the majority of her purchases were conducted at an ancient, decrepit used bookstore she’d wager existed before the sun shone. She couldn’t afford much else, as any manga came directly out of the money she bought the deific snacks she worshipped with.

“It’s set, then. I look forward to it.”

“....Thanks for sticking your neck out and talking to me. I know I can be a little fierce.” Natsuki allowed herself to open up a little. Just this once.

“I’m still not getting over what you said about manga, though.” It was intended as a quip, but the underlying disdain from that experience still managed to coat red malice into her sentence.

“...P-pardon?” Yuri stammered, with a shocked, thinking blend of expressions. You could see the confidence crumble again, a thin veneer of iris support that easily shattered against the force of a pink hammer.

“What? ‘Manga isn’t literature?’ You don’t even remember?” 

“I….” Yuri seemed to be doubting her own memory by this point, calm resolve tumbling further into the ebony void of shadows.

As if inheriting the tenacity that Natsuki was expelling, Yuri regained her grace, before redeeming herself from the false conviction. “I’ll admit i’ve said some less than admirable gestures aimed towards you, but I believe Monika was the arbiter for that comment.” She had a passionate stare not often seen in her eyes.

“....oh” How could Natsuki be so daft? She felt like the quintessential hypocrite: accusing others of generalizing her as childish before somehow blending together two separate people in her mind. 

“Sorry, I guess.” 

“T-thank you for apologizing.” 

“There isn’t much I wouldn’t consider literature, regardless. It’s a versatile and expansive medium that covers many bases. Literature is the written expression and recollection of stories; both by that literal definition, and the emotional definition of a passionate dance of the human spirit. Your works are included- adding drawings does not condemn what is another ardent expression to a status of “Not being literature.” I believe that Monika’s comment was considered as a jest, but in poor taste nonetheless.” The rant was flowing with energy; brimming with purpose. Passion crackled from every letter as if it were doused in high-voltage water.

“....You can get really carried away.” 

Yuri bashfully stared at the rug, while continuing to work on the strings of amethyst sprouting from her head. 

“Its fitting, though. Reminds me of your writing.”

“...”

Yuri had shifted her gaze to…. Oh please no.

Sayori was peering around the corner in a pose that hid her lower body (And probably wasn’t too good for her back), with the lanky Monika resting her own head on Sayori’s. The carpets of brown hair cascaded down Sayori’s shoulders, blanketing them: a waterfall of glistening, perfectly attended wool. They both had the dumbest, most goofy smiles on their face: as if they had just witnessed a unicorn giving birth.

“What are you two looking at?” Natsuki snapped.

Monika chuckled, then jived: “Lunch is ready, and its poem time! We came to fetch you two, you should come with us.”

“...If you can keep your lips off each other for one moment.” The tone was mocking, yet playful; but she knew right where to hit to send Natsuki into a solar flare of anger. Classic Monika.

“Why…. You….” Natsuki was halfway through her brutal massacre of a rebuttal before Monika waved goodbye in a sarcastic manner with a vile grin on her face, ducking out of the doorway. Sayori looked confused for a moment, before Monika’s arms grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her out of view.

Clenching her fists, Natsuki set off after the loathsome trickster, a hair-raising scowl plastered on her boiling face. Yuri’s prepared to call out, but the fierce bundle of cotton candy had already streaked out of the room’s threshold.

The hallways in Sayori’s house were ominous gaps between the safe havens of brightly painted walls: lengthy, murky things that always reminded Natsuki of the dim space inside wrapping paper rolls. Since the light switches were irritatingly tucked away at the furthest end of the hall, Sayori opted to instead never turn them on in the first place; it made the whole place have a faint, eerie murmur to it: a mad dash past vague framed items you can hardly make out, towards the blinding beacon of light on the other side. A soul passing from one world to the next.

To compound matters, there were doorways where a killer or eldritch beast could be lurking. As Natsuki rushed past each one, there was neither. However, there was….

A SAYORI!

Just about the least threatening thing possible leapt from behind the enclosure, tackling Natsuki into the fluffy carpet. Natsuki struggled, twisting and shoving in an attempt to release herself from the tacklehug. But it was no use: and it’s not like she could use actual force against Sayori.

“SAYORI! LET GO OF ME!” Natsuki yelled, not amused by the reddish girl’s game.

“no! i can't let you get to monika! she paid me in food!”

“WHATEVER SHE PAID YOU, I’LL PAY YOU TEN TIMES OVER IN CUPCAKES!”

Sayori paused, then made an “o” face with her mouth, getting off Natsuki, who immediately took off in a blur of speed into the kitchen.

Sayori’s kitchen had that certain aura to it that simply seemed to stir up the distant memories of one’s childhoods (Especially distant for Natsuki, in particular) Cutlery, bakeware, pots and pans all hung from hooks; stitched art, rustic colors, and a soothing cream paint. A subtle, ever-present aroma of gooey cookies that wafted throughout the gleaming tiles.

Monika was leaning against the kitchen’s island, casually scrutinizing Natsuki as she munched on a sandwich, emphasizing the crunching sounds to further aggravate Natsuki.

“So she sold me out for cupcakes? I knew I should have upped my payment.”

Natsuki then proceeded to unleash a deadly hail of eviscerating insults, while Monika continued to calmy rest her elbow while she finished her sandwich without batting so much as an eyelash.

“You’re getting more creative with your insult choice. Nice job.” Monika jived as she strolled past Natsuki, patting her on the shoulder.   
“AUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH.” Natsuki let out a long gasp of anguish. How unfortunate was it that she had enough respect for Monika to not attack her physically….

Monika sauntered to the cherry table where lunch was set; easing back into a chair. The remaining club members headed in, Yuri working to try to tame the malicious tangle of hair that had formed on Sayori’s head after diving with Natsuki. 

“....This hair is truly a Sisyphean task. How, in any sense do you order it? I must say I underestimated you, Sayori.” Yuri mused, sighing as she admitted defeat.

“ehehehhe. that’s a secret i’ll take to my grave.”

“What if I paid you in food for it?” Monika spoke up from the table, grinning.

Sayori stopped dead in her tracks, a surprised expression covering her features as she was clearly conflicted.

“Heh. Don’t think too hard on it, sweets. I’ve already got my own hair secrets.”

Wait, did Monika just call Sayori “Sweets?”

Natsuki had noticed some strange…. Energy between the two recently. She hadn’t given it much thought, mostly because she had vowed to give Monika a kind of “Cold shoulder” as a grudge (Although it didn’t seem to be working) But she had never thought….

Yuri simply stayed silent, following behind Sayori as they both approached the table. Still resolving her anger, Natsuki reluctantly followed after, rolling her eyes all the while.

As Natsuki predicted, the sandwiches honestly weren’t any sort of extraordinary masterpiece; certainly not anywhere near the level they should be with the amount of time Sayori poured into them. It was to be expected, however. Sayori had a habit of getting sidetracked, especially when Monika was around. Yet another irritating barb of evidence to the theory that Natsuki really did not want to consider….

Monika passed around the plates, and the posse loaded them up from the leaning tower in the center. Then, she retrieved a small manilla folder: passing each member a sheet of paper with the brief, structured passages fluid with expressions of heart and soul that they held so dear.

Sayori was passed a crumpled piece of notebook paper: seeming dejected and forgotten, with a few strips of tape mending the large gouges across its surface. She gave a mellow smile as Monika gave her a hard, judging stare. Yuri was passed an piece of printer paper whose sophisticated handwriting still managed to remain level across its unlined surface; and Natsuki was handed an average piece of notebook paper: the happy medium between the two extremes. Monika set her own poem down, a printed, more structured, approach.

“Okay, everyone! Let’s start.” Monika said, barely allowing any interjection before she turned to Sayori and passed poems with her.

Natsuki rolled her eyes, meeting Yuri’s bashful gaze before stretching out an empty hand to receive Yuri’s poem, and another hand to transfer her own. Yuri obliged, and the rustle of paper played ever so perfectly with the already audible conversation between the other girls, the  _ pat pat splat _ of rain outside, and the hollow breeze carelessly singing a hollow and gaunt song of mourning.

 

_ Passerby _

 

_ Another day, through the squalid metro I walk, on my routes to grander pastures, to realization abound. _

_ I shuffle past a splintered match of flickering, radiant light. Passion, hope, and luminance, in a medley of mesmerizing tenderness. It lights the bitter world, soon to be snuffed out. _

_ And yet, I could not interfere. I was merely a passerby. _

_ A delicate work of imprinted, stained glass ahead. Carefully constructed fragments of tinted storytelling, perhaps soon to be set into the facets of a grand cathedral. It tumbles, splintering into jagged, rough edges that sink and tear deeply into those caught near it. _

_ And yet, I could not interfere. I was merely a passerby. _

_ My eyes meet an ornate set of chains binding livestock from liberation, for the safety of the common people and the prosperity of the owner. They dig and burn, resulting in raw flesh. _

_ And yet, I could not interfere. I was merely a passerby. _

 

_ Sigh. _ Another one of these, Yuri? Natsuki posed internally. Well, that wasn’t exactly a germane question, she supposed: every poem Yuri wrote was like this. No matter its actual brevity, its length seemed multiplied tenfold; even terse instances were laiden with devicisive imagery that sunk its comprehension far longer than anything Natsuki could write. As with everything with Yuri, it was both astonishing and annoying: especially because there was no way Natsuki could ever rise to this level.

Musing over the verbose, articulate brick of a poem, Natsuki struggled for meaning. What was she comparing? Was she saying she was helpless in something? Natsuki figured that she sort of felt that way herself sometimes…. But you could never tell with Yuri. She was still getting over whatever the hell that poem about a racoon was about.

Natsuki looked up from the immaculate pane of snow to see Yuri meeting her gaze. Of course- Yuri had finished far before her. It was only natural.  _ Rain _ wasn’t exactly the rhetorical masterpiece deified in the pious temples of blessed literature, that was for sure.

Natsuki cleared her throat.

“Errr…. Are you going first?”

“If you would have me.” 

“Yeah, yeah sure.” Any extra time Natsuki got to look over this thing and appear like less of a childish scatterbrain was good time.

“Well, I see you’ve been inspired by the recent atmosphere either plaguing or blossoming our town, depending on how you look at it. Especially with these comparisons you used here.” The way Yuri talked while confident almost reminded Natsuki of the way professors or public speakers talked; which was odd, considering a breakdown would ensue if she was placed into either of those roles, surely.

“Which is always an excellent tactic while writing. Proper atmosphere can result in great imagery especially; and although that doesn’t seem to be a component of your style, it's still easier nonetheless to properly express your feelings into words when the source material is nearby, even if it's purely metaphorical. I, myself was considering writing a poem about the torrent; unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), the two most recent poems i’ve made have had more pressing matters i’ve chosen to write about, this one included.”

“Hmmph. Yeah, well, of course I always do that. I’ve mastered my style.” Natsuki wasn’t even going to begin to admit that this poem was made because she was still irritated about her broken window, mostly.

“But yeah, the rain has been killer. You’d be the only one I know that would take it as a good thing, Yuri. Besides maybe a farmer.”

“Every option has two alternatives, in the most basic sense: like your poem described. Have you heard of Schrodinger’s cat?”

“Uh…” Shit, how ironic was this. She had two decisions: either lie about knowing about this cat, or openly admit you’re dumb. Did they talk about this in science or math class? Was she just not paying attention? She broke eye contact with Yuri, only to turn to Monika, who locked eyes with Natsuki in a truly devilish grin before turning back to Sayori. Did she know what was going on?

Ah, fuck it. No way was she going to admit anything.

“Pffffh, of course. Who doesn’t?”

Yuri gave her a weird look, before continuing.

“As with the cat, you can either regard virtually anything as bad or good: positive or negative. In a sense, regarding the majority of situations as positive would be considered optimism; regarding the majority of situations as negative would be considered pessimism.”

“Right. Like Sayori and Monika.”

“Exactly. However, to be effective at strategy, one must consider both sides: leaders who only think fate can benefit them overestimate themselves; leaders who think fate can only detract from them miss opportunities. Consider both how a situation can harm you, then how it can aid you. The rain may be irritating, but it can bolster writing, or delay school, if you consider that beneficial.” 

 

“Yeah. What’s your point here? This all seems pretty simple.”

Yuri seemed a little stung by the arrogant tout, but continues regardless.

“O-of course. Yet in everyday life, these simple facts are often glanced over.”   


“You two might want to get back on topic.” Monika interjected.

“Right. Right. Are you done with my poem, Yuri?”

“Not quite. Are you willing to accept criticism?” 

The million dollar question. Natsuki bit her lip, tasting ferrous crimson as blunt gnashers punctured the already chapped lips. Natsuki had already been pushed this far out of her comfort zone. Was she ready to have someone criticize her? Would she be able to hold back the anger?

“Sure, I guess. Just don’t expect me to take it if it's stupid.” Natsuki immediately regretted her decision.

“Your poems usually use a rather simple style and language: examples like    
Eagles can fly” and “Amy likes spiders”

“So you’re calling them childish?” 

“N-no. Sorry, sorry. Simplicity can be elegant, or far more apt than my verbose gander; your poems have advantages such as faster comprehension by readers, and although this style is not my forte it would be a shame to declare that it is flawed entirely.”

“Of course it's not flawed. I wrote it.” 

“However, the only standards from which we can judge your poems is form other poems of similar style: this piece is far weaker compared to “Eagles can fly” and “Amy likes spiders” because its message is muddled. The best trait of your style is your lucidity, but this poem’s message about life favoring others over yourself is jarred by the sudden shift from the more dramatic comparisons beforehand to this casual, everyday example at the conclusion.”

“H-hey! Don’t-Don’t say it so loud, okay?” Natsuki protested, face flush from embarrassment as she glanced around if the other girls had heard Yuri. Monika had a mischievous grin on her face; she was looking at Sayori, but it almost felt like she knew Natsuki was glaring daggers at her. What was up with her?

The embarrassment seemed infectious, as Yuri joined in with her own shade of scarlet.

“Sorry…”

Despite not particularly wanting to keep being accosted by Yuri about her writing, she had to break this stagnant air before Monika broke it for them: likely with an all-too infuriating verbal prod alongside it.

“...Keep going.”

“....You use fairly dramatic analogies before your conclusion- harm, taking, etcetera. However, your conclusion uses a comparison that, although negative, does not carry the significance of the previous comparisons. Since you are attempting to call back to the more negative side of rain, simply saying “only the latter occurs to me” or something similar might be more apt for this situation. As it is currently, the meaning could be mistaken that life is only middling for you.” 

“I guess that kind of makes sense, but you figured out the meaning, right? And now everyone else i’ll ever show it to knows it too, because you exclaimed it to the whole world…” 

“that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try to improve your writing….”

“Whatever. Can I just get to yours now?”

“...Yeah.”

The one thing Natsuki wanted more than anything was to drive Yuri’s fragile piece of dainty vocabulary into the ground, but it had that impossible, byzantine quality to it that made it indecipherable. The letters twisted and warped off the page, before snaking their way up to Natsuki’s throat and suffocating her. What was with this vernacular? 

Natsuki was sure she had “Something” wrong with her to be this bad at reading. ADHD? Dyslexia? Schizophrenia? She wasn’t versed in psychology, so those words were merely something her mind she had acquainted with the study; probably heard from one of the documentaries Sayori watched while she was over, because it “sounded cool”, despite the fact that it vexed both of them.

Natsuki didn’t have the time nor the money to visit a behavioral psychologist, regardless; she doubted her father particularly cared what was wrong with her either, just that something  _ was _ wrong. (Which he reminded her daily about)

“It’s just…. Really hard to pull anything out of this garbled mess when you use the combination of all these words with all these odd analogies to things we don’t even know what you’re trying to compare them to….”

Yuri seemed taken aback; that brief spark  flared in her eyes, like earlier when she braved Natsuki about that false accusation. But it softens as her eyesight sharpens: as if she’s realizing something, a keen owl catching a minute detail miles away.

“Natsuki, do you want me to help you with your reading?”

“W-what?” Natsuki gave Yuri a very addled, vexed gape.

“It’s clear from your aversion from text-based novels, your intense disdain for my poetry, and your preference for more image-based literature that you seem to have some sort of deficiency. I am not mocking it. In fact, I am offering assistance.” Her gaze was comforting and enveloping: she seemed to have latched onto that facet of interest and determination yet again.

“No! I d-don’t need your help. I can read it, its just... Annoying.”

Yuri nodded, but her expression said she didn’t believe Natsuki.

“A-alright. If you ever reconsider, im here.”

“Monika, Sayori. We have concluded. Have you?”

“Yup. For a couple of minutes now. You two sure talk a lot while you’re around one another.” Monika japed while wiggling her eyebrows.

“And you two sure go cross-eyed for each other when you’re around one another.” Natsuki unleashed back in a riposte of scalding heat.

“Well then, Natsuki. Since we’ve already started talking, how about you read my poem first?” She appeared calm and humble, but Natsuki knew by this point Monika was a master of facades.

“Whatever. Had to happen eventually.” Natsuki attempted to keep up the same act, but she was digging her nails into her hands as she clenched her fists.

Monika casually slid her poem across the table in a suave gesture: it reminded Natsuki of the way a cheat gambler would deal out cards while she was the most sure of herself.

 

_ Reflections _

 

_ A block of wood. _

_ Slice. _

_ Two blocks of wood. _

_ Slice. _

_ Three smaller blocks and one larger block. _

_ Slice. _

_ Smaller blocks. _

_ Slice. _

_ Slice. _

_ Slice. _

_ Wood mixture. _

_ Slice. _

_ Slice. _

_ Slice. _

_ Wood compounds. _

_ Slice. _

_ Carbon atoms. _

_ Slice. _

_ Protons. _

_ Slice. _

_ Quarks. _

_ Slice. _

_ Strings. _

_ Slice. _

_ Reflections, infinite reflections. _

_ Slice. _

_ Myself, staring back. _

_ Slice. _

 

Natsuki sat agape, completely speechless. She couldn’t even….. What? Monika’s poems were usually abstract, but she could at least faintly grasp at some shrivel of context or meaning. This was just…. Completely outlandish. Weren’t protons parts of atoms? Between this and Yuri’s dog question, she really should have paid attention in Science class.

“Is this some sort of joke, Monika? Are you really handing me a joke poem?”

“Oh? Regretting passing up Yuri’s offer?”

“S-shut up, Monika. You don’t even know what it's about yourself!” 

“Really? Because I assure you.”

“I am perfectly aware of its meaning.”

Monika gave a dead stare. Natsuki could almost feel the slimy coating on her own eyes completely solidify, locking the two pairs of eyes in a chilling duel. Even Natsuki’s iron temper soon perished under the…. “Knowing” look she gave. It suggested an eldritch truth, and Natsuki’s errant mind shriveled under any knowledge of it.

As quickly as it began, it ended. Monika blinked, then leaned back into her chair.

Natsuki’s hands were trembling: clammy with cold heat that seemed to have emerged from the pale void present within. Her breathing jittered about aimlessly in turbulent circles before she finally clenched onto sanity again: reassurance that it had merely been a clever illusion by the light. She couldn’t be unnerved by Monika, regardless: she was too stout for that.

Monika perused over Natsuki’s poem, tapping her fingernail on the table all the while.

“Not bad, Natsuki! You’re really improving. Of course, there are issues- But Yuri mostly covered them already! The most important thing is that you settle into a style. You’re not exactly a wizened veteran, but before long, poetry will come as naturally as speaking.”

See? Normal Monika.   
“Yeah, right. My writing is better than Yuri’s, anyways.”

“Well, it's always subjective. But I have to give you credit, you did beat her in some places.”

“Say, Sayori and I were considering playing a game of Spades later. Who do you want to be partnered with?”

This was always an issue. Monika was easily the most proficient at the game , but that look of omnipotence earlier still gave Natsuki bad vibes about her. Yuri was fairly good,  but sometimes crumbled under pressure, and Sayori was a total goof but Natsuki’s favorite of the group. Then again, playing with her meant the unstoppable team of Yuri and Monika were their opponents…. Yuri it was.

“Yuri.”

A meager smile formed at the edges of Monika’s lips.

“You didn’t want for us to beat you again, I see?”

“Shut up! Sayori and I will beat you two one day. Just… Not today.”

“Losing doesn’t fit your appetite?”

“I swear. You cheat, Monika.”

“Oh hoh hoh, throwing out the false accusations, are we?”

“I’ll catch you soon.”

“I implore you to try.” 

Sayori and Yuri seemed to have already finished. Monika almost wordlessly turned from Natsuki, to talk with Yuri.

Which only left Sayori.

Sayori gleefully almost shoved her poem into Natsuki’s hands. It was obvious that the gesture wasn’t meant in any sort of way other than aloof clumsiness; but Natsuki couldn’t help it as she shoved a little bit back in spite. Sayori then giggled, pushing her back. Rolling her eyes, Natsuki rammed into Sayori, almost knocking her chair over as she wobbled back in forth, with a truly fear-stricken mask almost carved into her face. The coinflip of a gravitational battle finally ceased, with Sayori thankfully plopping back down without scattering about. But if there was one thing Natsuki knew; for every time Sayori was lucky, there were ten others where her doltzy chagrin pivoted her into scuffles.

She chuckled off the near-wipeout experience, before retrieving Natsuki’s poem.

“i’m not forgetting about those cupcakes, you know! monika paid me with ten sandwiches, so that's 100!”

“You do realize that’s coming out of your pocket, right? I don’t have the money for any of the mix or frosting.”

“durrr! but its your time.”

“yuri always says time is more valuable than anything else.”

“That does seem like one of Yuri’s daily wisdom quotes. I don’t really know, though. I think you’d give up anything for food.”

“not true!”

“Name one thing.”

Sayori busted out her “hmmmmmm” pose, resting her head on her hand like the emoji. It was a stupid habit of hers: acting out emojis. Natsuki shook her head, before finally reading Sayori’s poem.  
  


  
_ Bubble _

 

_ Floating through the ocean, in a bubble. _

_ Past all the happy fishes. _

_ Past all the coral reefs. _

_ Past all the sunken ships and buried treasure. _

_ Past all the great blue whales. _

_ I’d love to join them. _ __  
  


As per usual: happy and upbeat. There really was nothing else to Sayori poems, especially since this one was shorter than most. Yuri mentioned a few times that she thought Sayori always hid deeper meanings in her poems, but with a poem like this, what could that possibly be?

“Nice, Sayori. This one’s pretty short, though.”

“oh, well, eheheh. i wrote it while you were over, so i didn’t get much time to think….”

“I think everyone’s were. Unless you count all the “Slice” in Monika’s. Honestly, I think she was just using that as padding to make it appear more impressive.”

“Do you even know what that one was about?”

“hmmm? uh, no. she usually tells me all about the meanings, but she said this one was a “mystery!” she gave me a clue, though. mirror? “

“Mirror what?”

“that’s it! just that word.”

“....She’s such an oddball.”

“aren’t we all?”

“I guess so. We should make a scientific theory about that. Oddball magnetism.

“ooo! ooo! i  wanted to be a scientist when i was little.”

“but yuri or monika seems a lot better for something like that…”

“I don’t know. Yuri might freak out and spill something.”

“ :O did i hear bulli? did you dare use bulli while talking to me?”

“Shut, Sayori.”

Monika cleared her throat.

“Okay, gang! Now that poem time is over….”

“spades?” Sayori perked up. She always seemed to love the game, despite being absolutely atrocious at it. Sayori seemed that way about a lot of things: she must be the master of participation medals.

“Spades.” Monika finalized, with a bold grin.

She set the pack of playing cards on the table, and the round table of ink knights took their positions for the upcoming battle of wits. Gleaming armors of chestnut, fuschia, lavender, and strawberry; blades of rift, fire, moonlight, and tenderness. The prologue for a unity forged between raging rapids and wine moonlight.

 

_ Balloon _

 

_ Balloon’s don’t chose to be fragile. _

_ They don’t chose to be loud. _

_ They don’t chose to be pretty. _

_ They don’t chose to float. _

_ They don’t chose to be strung up. _

_ Balloons don’t choose to be balloons. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, now onto the chapter itself: Whew. This was grueling for me, because dialogue is NOT my forte. 
> 
> I tried my best to describe Sayori's depression from a stance where her friends didn't know but still picked up on the warning signs: It was also hard to make Natsuki's anger feel real. A fair amount of jokes, but Monika and Sayori are the pranksters of the group.
> 
> Fun facts:  
> Monika totally cheats.  
> Sayori's poem is based off her feeling of isolation from her friends and positive feelings in the world: she's in a bubble, only a thin layer away from them: but she can never reach them.  
> Sayori collects items as a sort of hoarding: The issue has largely gone away, but in early childhood her parents bought her lots of whatever she liked that month to appease her.  
> The sandwiches were BLTS.


	5. Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While observing the beginning of the spades game from a distance, Yuri recalls the first half of a old memory about a chess tournament with the rest of the gang.
> 
> In the midst of it all, she happens upon a fond memory of Natsuki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd another one. Sorry about it being much, much shorter than the last. This was intended to be the entirety of the story and the spades game (Or just the story) But that endpoint was a perfect transition into the next chapter, plus having the story in two perspectives will be cool.
> 
> Please, leave a comment! I read and reply to them all and love discussing anything that goes into this. I love watching Kudos and hits slowly go up, but nothing warms my heart more than a comment, even if its criticism.

Chap 5- Queen

Yuri’s plan to appear as less of an introverted tortoise was going moderately well, she’d say. An erratic line on a heartbeat monitor; high points and low points, jagged mountains and the depths of trenches. Luckily, it had not stagnated yet to a dread line paired with that telling elongated beep: the effort was alive and well.

Fitting as a porcupine or urchin, Natsuki bristled with any interaction in expectation of a threat. It had taken steadfast willpower for Yuri to retain her composure, a glass pane struggling against miserable torrents despite a history of shattering on contact. The will to drive against her own flaws compelled her; the will to mend Natsuki’s insecurities in the same vein as she wished someone would mend her own compelled her. The struggle would be sisyphean, but commitment had already been tempered and cast, egress fragmented with its conception.

Now, she must sand her observational edge to a tuned extreme. Spades required a certain frame of thought to properly assess the flow and rhythm of each strategic decision, especially when she couldn’t rely on Monika’s suspiciously infallible strategy and luck this time.

At least she wasn’t with Sayori, who was almost the antithesis of Monika’s superb mastery- but Yuri was still sure Monika would find some way to drag her to victory.

Sayori shuffled the cards aimlessly, dragging around large bundles of them with her palm in a disorganized mélange. Monika droned out a lingering sigh that seemed to reverberate in such a low frequency that the cards began shaking.

“Really, just let me do it, Natsuki. At this rate, we’ll be here for ages, and you can have Yuri and yourself track every move I could make.”

“No. There’s no way Sayori could even begin to cheat, so she’s going to be the dedicated shuffler from now on.” Natsuki was leaning back with arms overlapped, a decisive stare leveled at Monika.

“Really? More accusations, Natsuki? Are you going to claim that chess sweep against you was a sham, too?”

“That tournament where you got your ass handed to you by Yuri?”

Monika’s frosty composure held, but subtle facial movements told Yuri that critical strike had found its mark. Natsuki may not be the best at classical skills, but she outmatches even Monika in knowing where to strike during a verbal battle.

The incident in question had been little over a month ago, during the winter festival. There is a special title bestowed upon a seperate club every festival, that allows them to create the “Main Event” and take center stage. But for this recollection, one of the side effects of this event is important: the rite of passage for the special honor.

The host club creates a competition which anyone but host club members can enter, so long as they are in a club. To the winner gleams the special title, alongside an additional reward if the competition is individual-based.

The host was the chess club, and consequently, the competition was a chess tournament. Sayori and Monika were giddy at a chance to promote the club, but Natsuki was rooted in her decision not to participate, and although Yuri considered herself a connoisseur of sorts in chess (The chess club was her second choice, after all) doubt and possibilities swam in her head, a pool of gnashing sea snakes. What if she was eliminated in the first match? What if worse yet, she failed at the final moment?

But Monika was zealous to this endeavour; a sparkling, combusting twinkling in her eyes warped and flickered,  telling Yuri that she would not fall from her stance- and that she was not only in it to promote the club, but to establish her dominance and claim the individual reward: both a trophy, and an article written about herself in the school newspaper.

Natsuki buckled after Monika subtly implied she was a coward, and Yuri soon followed. Not because Monika had pulled any strings, but simply that Yuri was aware that she was likely going to have fate in her favor no matter her protests, especially if Natsuki had been tamed so easily. Monika had the power; and Yuri simply admitted resistance was futile.

Yuri wanted to win. Not for the prize in question (She would likely turn down the latter reward, regardless) She merely wished to succeed to have the most experiences, to improve herself, and delight in the decadent array of emotional morsels every match offered. Ambrosia anger, succulent sadness, hearty happiness, and tany tenacity.

Yuri had to admit that a splinter of resolve was based in the delight of knocking monika off her gold embossed throne of social superiority. Yuri wasn’t someone who particularly harbored any withstanding grudges or desires for someone to fail, because of her pitiful anger that bleached away quickly in her more mellow approach. This was why she had a certain admiration for Natsuki- and she commited a small fraction of Natsuki's blazing spirit to herself to knock Monika down a peg.

Soon, the first matches began. Yuri’s first opponent was somewhat of a reserved novice: she reminded Yuri of herself to a certain extent, and caused Yuri to feel regret from the fact that she must be eliminated this early to progress. The victory was expeditious, but not savory: she felt no pride in crushing this girl.

Meanwhile, Monika attempted to appear considerate as she decimated her opponent, but Yuri could read her subletlies as she often could (Monika didn’t put as much effort into her inviolable mask of poise when she didn’t know Yuri was scrutinizing her with owl-sighted vision). She was relishing it- Yuri could tell by the pixel-wide smirk on the frame of her mouth. It was sickening, to an extent. Yuri valued being humble as a core pillar of ethical practice, yet Monika had reduced it to a fine fog of dust with a single strike.

Yuri kept her distance, attempting to infer Monika’s strategy to remain primed for the match that would inevitably come. It irked her, at first. A few decisions seemed perfectly lucid, and easily countered with an impactful snare or decisive capturing of a pivotal piece: yet her opponent, despite seeming competent enough, tumbled through each of Monika’s conspicuous follies, magnifying her lamentable position with each reckless decision. Why?

It was not until Yuri shifted her focus from the piece movements, to Monika’s silver tongue, that Yuri began to understand.

Monika’s artisan talent was rhetoric through words; her gleaming tongue of slippery cajolery impeccably pronounced syllables with a poignant sting and a crystal form that almost gave them defined physical shape, drifting away into the aether. Monika’s idle conversation with her opponent gleamed with indefatigable purpose. Before an especially pivotal action, Monika offhandedly queried about her challenger’s breakup in the suave inflection that she slathered onto every word she enunciated. The topic compromised her focus and her play. Monika continued this rampant exploitation, mild errors compounding as she incrementally exploited the poor girl’s weaknesses.

“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the results of a hundred battles.”

This exchange troubled Yuri deeply. The foul, inky ichor of doubt seeping its sticky sweetness into her sanguine mind. An opponent who attacks directly she could trivialize. But against an opponent who targets her most vulnerable facet she could not. It’s not as if Monika lacked material, as most did: she knew Yuri better than even the other club members.

Meanwhile, Sayori was promptly eliminated, giving a toothy smile as she complimented her opponent on their skill (although thier tactics were pitiful). Sayori’s purpose was here to support Yuri and Monika, regardless. (Whom she predicted would last the longest, much to Natsuki’s detest)

Natsuki impressed Yuri as she outmatched the boy in her blazing path with prodigious capability, molten conviction radiating off her like heatwaves. It was likely her extensive grudge against Monika steadied her conviction, which was a petty motivator, but her blinding determination piqued Yuri’s love for individuals whose confidence far outmatched her own.

Monika’s underhanded strategy continued to escalate in scale as her opponents grew stoic in their temperament. She still managed a concise conquest, which worsened Yuri’s apprehension. Natsuki bloodied another foe, hardly uttering even a single word as her vivid focus reached a razor point. After Yuri’s next victory, she perused the tournament brackets. Natsuki was facing Monika next, and Yuri couldn’t bear to see the girl’s dramatic escapade be doused by Monika.

Summoning up the same courage to alter fate that led to the events in present day, Yuri set off to warn Natsuki before her next match.

Natsuki was practicing against herself: devout in her quest, far more fervent than Yuri’s mere slight wish to come out on top. Sitting across from her, Yuri made a move before she could, effectively inserting herself into the game while speaking.

“Hey! I’m trying to do something here, Yuri. Quit.”

“Natsuki, this is important. Do you want to win?”

“What kind of a question is that, Yuri? Don’t get all philosophical on me. Of course I do.”

“Why?”

Natsuki nonchalantly shrugged, turning away to mask her purpose. “Winning’s nice.”

“It’s okay to admit it to me, Natsuki. I won't call you petty.”

“....Do you really have to force me to say this kind of stuff out loud?”

“Fine. I want to beat  _ her. _ That’s my only reason.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s cool and all. She just needs to take a little trip down the totem pole… Sometimes. Down here with the rest of us.”

“Clever subversion of the classic idiom...”

“Yuri, don’t get distracted by literature. Why are you asking about winning? Do you have advice?”

“Because i’ve seen you play, and I can honestly say I already know anything you’ll say to me.”

“Not about my play, or even tactics in general.”

“I know Monika’s strategy.”

“What?”

“Not her board movements. She’s a middling player, at best.”

“Woah, Yuri- That’s pretty arrogant of you to say. I thought you were supposed to be the composed one?”

“She’s made it as far as us. We shouldn’t underestimate her.”

“You assumed my purpose. I’m implying you should take more steps to be cautious.”

“Her procedure may be inadequate, but she compensates by lulling you out of a winning mindset by poking at insecurities with a blasé tone so you aren’t suspicious.”

“I hate to criticize your emotional state, but both of us aren’t known for being invulnerable to emotional tampering.”

“Do you really think i’m going to fall into some stupid-ass trap, Yuri? This will just make beating her easier, if that’s her fool’s gambit.”

Yuri stared at Natsuki with a glum fixation, before moving one piece with great emphasis in the mock game they were playing.

“Checkmate.”

“Wa-wait, what?” Natsuki gaped down at the board with a wild dubiety flickering in her pupils.

“I distracted you from the game by bringing up this temperamental topic to you.”

“This may be a mock game, but i’m no gambler nor swindler like Monika. You were left exposed to my psychological piercing, even if nothing was at stake. I’m warning you, Natsuki- If you don’t fortify your mental guards, you will lose. That’s a ultimatum.”

“Sh-shut up, Yuri.” Natsuki closed her eyes and stared at the board with bangs covering her eyes.

Yuri ascended from the chair, before heading off for her next match.

“....W-wait, Yuri.” Natsuki called out, quietly.

“....do you have any advice?” It was merely above a whimper.

Yuri shook her head.

“No, Natsuki. You’re stronger than me in times of due stress.”

“Remember that. You’ve got a center of earnest chivalry to you, beneath it all.”

Natsuki looked away with a snide expression on her face, as if compensating for the weakness she had just shown to the world.

“Whatever. Knights are stupid.”

“Your game is soon, Natsuki. I wish you both luck and pluck on your venture.”

“Nerd.”

And so, Yuri left. She would remember that tender moment, that exchange of how she admired the core aspect of the girl, even if the other aspects were irritating.

And so, the story would continue, another time.

And so, the marble and ebony queen stared back at infinity.

And so, four lines became one.

And so, crimson refracted into a rainbow.

And so, a poem budded from the frosty embrace of winter.

 

_ Queen _

 

_ Queen of spades. _

_ Queen of flame. _

_ Queen of completion. _

_ Queen of heights. _

_ Queen of distance. _

_ Queen of pawns. _

_ Queen of clouds. _

_ Queen of me. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the REAL start of NatsukiXYuri. Get on the hype train, my bois. 
> 
> Natsuki admires Yuri because of her elegance and maturity; Yuri admires Natsuki for her passion, dedication, and flaws that make her oh so much like the protagonists in some of her books. They both have things the other really never has had; Yuri is timid enough that she cant be too upstanding, and is somewhat fleeting about sticking to anything. Natsuki has issues about seeming childish due to their stunted growth.
> 
> Fun Facts
> 
> I have a ton of fun writing the poems. Even if im not the best, trying to imitate how they write and making fun little metaphors is so fun.
> 
> I have no clue where this chapter even came from. I swear, I was going to do the spades game. And now its a two parter about a chess game split between both girls, apparently. Im happy it turned out this way, though.
> 
> Monika is a god at poker
> 
> After writing this, im considering turning Monika's stand to be persuasion based somehow. Eh, whatever.


	6. Lean On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second third of the "Flashback chess tournament" Arc.
> 
> Natsuki faces Monika in a duel of wits. Things turn out pretty much how you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick reminder: Please leave a comment, if you can! Comments are really what keeps me going, even if its criticism! It makes the people reading this much more tangible than just a number going up, haha!
> 
> Bit by bit, im adding on characterization for all the girls. This whole arc is more of a "Monika" deal, while "balloon" was more Sayori (With all of her house stuff....) There will be a pretty big text dump at the end all about Monika.
> 
> And speaking of Monika, the next chapter is the first chapter to not be Natsuki or Yuri! That's right, A Monika chapter! Could you believe it?

It was time.

The faint call over the speaker system hardly registered to Natsuki over the tribal sound of her heart’s rhythmic warbeat.

She was going to win. Not just to show Monika her place, but to prove to everyone that she wasn’t a child. That she could crush one of the most respectable chess players here. That her exterior couldn’t compare to her interior. She was a monster, and she would destroy anyone who attempted to trivialize her.

And then, after Monika? She’d beat Yuri. She’d beat everyone, and then she’d refuse the prize, just because she could.

She carried herself with a determined stride as she shoved past a few onlookers in the mild crowd clustered around the board. Monika had a certain following about her, after all: a varied group of avid fans who followed her around like obedient dogs, hoping to eat up any scraps of popularity she shed. She supposed some of them were simply spectators, as well; this far into the tournament, strategy had escalated to be quite complex, if you cared to look below the surface.

Monika was already at the table for two, of course. She chatted with a few of her friends, a kind and thoughtful face, yet it still had a tang of arrogance to it that you only noticed if you were looking for it.

As Natsuki pulled out the chair and righted herself in it with an aggressive posture, she spotted Sayori and Yuri watching from a distance. You could tell Yuri didn’t want to be so close to the scene, far preferring to analyze the situation from a distance where she would be blurred against the noisy background, but Sayori clung to her clothes, using her as a sort of headrest and rooting her in place.

  
“Sayori, I would like to ask if we can please find somewhere more comfortable. Perhaps on the second floor of the library? Wouldn’t an aerial view be superb?”

“no! natsuki and monika are about to duel, and you’re going to be all the way up there?”

“cm’on! this is gonna be so exciting!”

“....and this way, i don’t lose my pillow! >:D”

“ _Sigh._ ”

“you’re such a grump.”

Focusing back on the checkerboard of coral and umbra shades, Natsuki gave a defiant stare to Monika and put on her best poker face.

“Are you ready, Natsuki? The official will begin the match as soon as we both say we are.”

"Yeah. This shouldn’t take long.”

“Very well….” The last line flaunted a tinge of sarcasm, before Monika gestured to the board with a sweeping motion, as if to say “It’s all yours.”

Being white, Natsuki made the first move, calmly shifting over the pawn before smacking down the clock and looking back up at Monika, who still seemed to be assured. She moved with graceful motions, and set off the exchange of piece repositioning.

The early stages of the match were void of any sort of real conversation; Monika occasionally piped up with a compliment about Natsuki’s play, but she never received any response, and the muted undertones of insulting sarcasm only chipped at Natsuki’s calm, yet unwavering stance.

Evidently, at the turning point of the battle- Monika began to spring her trap. It was subtle, but cracked at Natsuki’s shell with unfaltering precision.

“Natsuki, where’s your father? I didn’t see him when I was talking with Sayori’s parents. I know Yuri’s are out of town, but isn’t he at home all the time?”

“....”

Natsuki’s tiny fingers strained against the piece in her hand as she clasped it in a tight grip.

She…. She was bringing that up? That was her plan? To make Natsuki more angry?

Did she know? That…. That… Bitch.

Natsuki’s breathing became louder as she struggled to precisely move it with her tensed hand. Her thoughts began boiling. She stopped thinking about the game, and every fiber of her being focused on how much she _hated_ Monika right now.

Out of the corner of her eye, Natsuki caught a glimpse of Yuri, who locked eyes with a solemn stare. The exchange was brief, like two strangers on a train- But that mesmerizing, soothing aura Yuri had to her managed to steady her thoughts for a moment.

Yuri was right. She needed to think- To put all that past her for a moment. She could express her loathing when Monika was defeated, when she stood triumphant over the snake, tail in hand. She was certain Monika wasn’t wholly evil; she had seen firsthand tender moments. She just seemed to be especially dedicated to the “Means justify the ends”, which resulted in situations like this were she was very detestable.

Natsuki made her move, sighing with relief as she double-checked its positioning.

“Hmmm? Natsuki?”

“You still haven’t answered me.”

“...”

“He couldn’t make it. Work stuff.”

“But you said he has a stay at home job?”

Shit. Natsuki wavered as Monika moved, trying to fix her collection of lies.

That’s only sometimes? Of course not, what a predictable excuse. He changed jobs? How likely is that? She didn’t even know the last time she told Monika that. They needed him for something specific? There we go.

“They needed him for something specific.

“Oh, alright.”

Natsuki moved, then immediately froze dead in her tracks.

She hadn’t even been thinking- But she completely glanced over one of Monika’s pieces. Her queen.

With a smug, concealed grin, Monika dragged the queen across the board in a slow, torturous manner, before tapping Natsuki’s bishop off the board.

“Check.”

Monika pompously tapped the clock, before resting her head on her hands and  expectantly looking with a snide smirk for Natsuki’s next move.

The game continued, and Natsuki was on the defensive. It was amazing just how that singular move had completely changed fate; a tiny pinprick of a jab had cost her so much ground. Unless she could rebound, and quickly- Monika would win.

And she did. Evidently, Yuri was right; Monika’s play was seriously lacking. Motions and tactics seemed lazy and superficial, but she always had a guile subtlety that made Natsuki second-guess every one of her moves. She didn’t seem to be trying another verbal trick, at least not yet. Natsuki began to lull back onto her plush bed of comfort, mind drifting away from the experience earlier.

“Say, Natsuki- You and Yuri seem to be like two positive ends of a magnet, repelling against one another.”

Natsuki rolled her eyes. “Yeah. What about it?” What a pitiful excuse for a diversion.

“You know, when you flip one of those magnets around, they pull together.”

“....What are you trying to say?”

“All i’m saying is, you two would be a pretty cute couple…..”

Natsuki flashed her a look of supreme disgust and disbelief. Did she just say that in front of this crowd?

“W-what? Shut your mouth, Monika. She’s I…. I don’t like her. In general, or at all.”

“Are you just saying that because you’re envious of her?”

The crowd began whispering, the coiling tendrils of their gossip all too a familiar a feeling to Natsuki as she felt embarrassment and anger mix inside her like sugar and flour- An ungodly combination, the two horsemen of Natsuki’s apocalypse.

Natsuki shot a look at Yuri- She had help her calm down last time. But she was hiding her face with her one free hand, face completely flushed as Sayori leaned against her, seeming to be teasing her about the situation.

“Uh-oh! Natsuki, time’s almost up! You better make your move!” Monika’s comment only worsened the feelings, especially with that infuriating pose she had with her right hand and index finger pointing outwards.

Hastily making her decision, Natsuki moved, nearly knocking over half the board with the intensity that she dragged it across. She checked it, but only on a surface level- She was far too focused on whatever the hell just happened. Would everyone think she envied Yuri now? Would Yuri assume she has the hots for her? ….Did she?

No, of course not. Monika was just attempting to confuse her. True, she did envy her. But she wanted those qualities for herself, not to be… With them, or anything. That’s just weird.

Monika quietly hummed the tune to some foreign song Natsuki didn’t recognize, then placed her queen into…. Wait.

Monika had just moved her queen right into the middle of Natsuki’s line of attack! She’d be able to capture it…. To avenge all of those pieces she lost earlier due to her own idiocy.

Without hesitating for even a second, Natsuki moved and captured Monika’s queen.

Confident in her decision, Natsuki felt tension relieved as she cracked a smile. Just a little one. Until…

Monika had a polite grin, the kind that you see when someone is internally laughing but wants to act kind. She raised her hand to cover her mouth, softly giggling behind it. Natsuki’s stomach suddenly grew ten pounds heavier, digging into her legs.

“I have to give it to you, Natsuki! You played really well.” Her smug undertones were much clearer now. There was no mistaking it: that was the voice of someone who thought they had won.

“What?”

And then, all the pieces fell into place. Natsuki felt like a child.

She had trapped the queen. Of course she had.  

With one final motion, Monika edged her rook a few squares over.

“Checkmate.”

The world felt as if a clear crystallization had fallen upon it, halting everything. Natsuki couldn’t even comprehend this: she was stupid. So, so stupid.

She wanted to finally prove her maturity. But she had only proven the opposite.

“Are you okay, Natsuki?”

She tried to conjure up her anger- But she couldn’t. There was nothing left. Only shallow remorse and rage at herself.

She got up from the table, and walked off. She didn’t care to where, as long as it was alone. Anyone around her was just a shadow, a dull figure that blurred past the edge of her vision. Any voices were careless whispers in the wind.

She had failed, and even if the matter was trivial, its implications were world-shattering. She lost because Monika poked at her insecurities. She was weak, and she couldn’t admit to the world that she envied Yuri. She couldn’t admit to the world that her dad abused her. And she couldn’t admit to the world that she was really was as strong as all the detractors said.

After some aimless wandering that she could hardly remember, Natsuki found her safe space. It was a secluded aisle of the library, on the second floor. It was an isolated place, made even more so by the action of the tournament that all were drawn to. She strolled past the walls of neatly lined tomes that she could probably never read, before reaching the end- It was an aisle that led into a wall.

The window butted between the two shelves gaped its frame to reveal the desolate environment outside; the school courtyard, a gown of white snow dressed upon it. It would be pretty, if not for the blemishes of uncovered grass and stones that made the scene seem completely loathsome. Rain was falling, and it's chilling gift only furthered to undo the beauty of frost.

The windowsill was wide enough for Natsuki’s petite form to fit on it, and she sat against the pane of glass, feeling the temperature from outside suck away her warmth. It seemed poetic, in a way. Maybe she would write a poem about it…?

“Maybe you should write a poem about it?”

Natsuki turned slowly, to see Yuri at the end of the aisle. Was it concern, or pity? It didn’t really matter.

“Go away.”

“You’re going to freeze if you stay conjoined to that window, Natsuki. Even with the heat.”

“Go. Away.”

“I’m sorry, Natsuki.”

“...”

“I don’t need your pity, Yuri. You need to get ready for your game with Monika.”

Yuri inched closer.

“I need you for my game, Natsuki.”

“No, you don’t, you nerd. Shut up, and leave me. I’ll be down there soon.”

Yuri crossed the bridge between the two, almost next to Natsuki.

“I know you’re mad at me.”

“Im not.”

“Don’t lie to me, Natsuki.”

“It was the comment about me that did you in.”

“...”

“I need you, because I need your spirit.”

“I’m weak. I’ll bend.”

“So did I. My spirit didn’t save me there, did I?”

“It didn’t, but those issues were your own.”

“You lost, because in the end, I couldn’t reassure you.”

“You looked over at me on the second time, didn’t you?”

“....”

“I wasn’t there for you.”

“Shut up, Yuri. This is a chess game. Quit being so dramatic. "

“But it means a lot.”

“To both of us." 

“Then what’s your reason?”

“To avenge my friend.”

“....”

“Please.”

“...I’ll do it. On one condition.”

“You better kick her ass.”

“She better be weeping afterwards, or i'm going to kick your ass instead.”

And with that, Yuri smiled.

“She will.”

 

_Lean On_

 

_Everyone needs something to lean on._

_It's never what you expect._

_Sometimes, life hits you down hard enough,_

_That you’ll lean on just about anything._

_And you’ll find something you never knew._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a really big issue a lot of Fic writers for DDLC that they create when they transfer Monika into an everyday life; And that's that Monika ceases to be Monika. Monika's only real defining trait IS her self awareness and willingness to be such a BITCH. When you take that away, she feels like generic anime grill 2000.
> 
> Writers can get around this by just setting their fic in a game universe, but I got around it by expanding upon Monika's tendencies in the game instead of deleting them. The one thing you'll notice about Monika is that she really likes getting her way: She goes through so much shit in-game, just to get her way. But at the same time, she's subtle about it; she wants to do the least amount of damage possible, while still getting her way. She isn't stupid, she isn't Sayori after act 3. She tries.
> 
> When making Monika into a (Relatively) normal character, I wanted that to be a part of her. It made sense why she'd want to be so popular, and it made sense why she wanted to make a literature club: 3 underlings to control is much easier than being only part of a larger club. Monika likes being in control, she likes getting her way, but she also likes being able to do that without expending much effort or messing things up too drastically.
> 
> Monika isn't evil. (at least, in this universe) She would never do what the game monika did to her friends to get any of her goals, unless she got put into the same situation game monika did.... But she's willing to do some unethical things to win. She's willing to cheat, to manipulate people, and to expose their insecurities, because in her mind, its for the best.
> 
> Imagine if Natsuki had won. Would you say Natsuki is a better player than Monika? Probably not. Natsuki would (probably) lose. And so, Monika must win. She's doing it for the club. Obviously, a little bit to be in the spotlight, but also for the club.
> 
> She loves being at the top, to win, and to work people like toys. She cares for people, but that can be hard to see under the two layers she has (Her layer of caring, and the layer of malice beneath that) She masks everything in sincerity, but beneath it, she's arrogant. But beneath THAT, she's sincere. Sometimes.
> 
> She probably legitimately was worried about Natsuki after she walked off. Maybe a little bit remorseful?
> 
> Monika is a sociopath, but she tries. She goes overboard sometimes, and that's one of her insecurities.
> 
> Its also part of the reason why MonikaXSayori is a thing here. As fucked up as it may be, Monika likes being in control, and Sayori is pretty weak. Does she treat Sayori badly? No, but she enjoys Sayori relying on her for things and being able to have some sort of romantic power over her. This doesn't mean that she doesn't love her, she just has some other reasons for it.
> 
> Fun facts
> 
> Monika is slightly based off Dio! Not stardust crusaders dio, but phantom blood dio. She isn't as aggressive, but she shares some of the same mentalities.


	7. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final showdown between Yuri and Monika, the third part in the mini chess tournament arc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments! I love comments. Plz. You know the deal.  
> I might be starting that jojo au thing soon? Idunno. Next chapter is finally back in the present, with the spades game that I swear will be done in like, one chapter. Nothing like this 3 part chapter stuff.

Monika had made a mistake.

It was very, very hard to admit- some parts of her just told Natsuki to suck it up. Monika thought there was always that darkened shade to her, that clung to her every action. She was well aware that she wasn’t an incredibly good person, but she tried. She tried to fight against her desires.

Monika wanted to win. She wanted to be at the top, always- And she wouldn’t allow anyone to order her around. She wasn’t exactly clear about where the lust even came from, but then again- who was? Who knows where their issues start and end. If she had to grasp at the fleeting memories that instigated it, maybe it was a feeling of vulnerability. But there was that darker aspect, again: it said that she was invincible, that there was no vulnerability to her.

But she wasn’t soulless, and the very fact that empathy still budded under the intense pressure of her desires comforted her. She wasn’t a psychopath, at least, and she wouldn’t turn into a murderer or criminal within her foresight. She could be a sociopath, however; and that scared her.

And this was another instance where she felt guilt swallow and overpower her desires whole. She hadn’t meant to make a real emotional impact, not at all. Clearly, she had underestimated the sheer weight of whatever was bearing down on Natsuki from her father. Monika had assumed that perhaps he was just a workaholic, or didn’t care enough about her interests. Sure, it was still a inimical query, but it would merely be enough to rupture her glass focus.

The Yuri comment, as well. They seemed to compound upon one another, stacking to worsen the effect. Monika’s goal wasn’t at all to scar the poor girl; her schemes were cost-effective, shrewd, and meant to cause the least amount of hysteria possible.

She would have to apologize, which was straightforward enough for Monika; she had enough false integrity to properly garnish her words with alluring, if superficial, empathy. Unfortunately, she doubted her usual routine would work. With Natsuki seemingly learning to pick up on most of her less complicated ploys, she might be able to peer past the gossamer web of deceit.

Besides, it was unnecessary. She felt real, genuine empathy for the poor girl, which was a rare feat. She cared for, and possibly envied her three subservients- they came to such emotions so easily. Monika doubted her own humanity, and whether or not she was a villain often, because she often only yearned for the one emotion that came easily to her: smug happiness.

The only problem would be expressing said empathy. How would she say it that wouldn’t mimic her performances? They were designed to appear nearly indiscernible from the real thing... It distressed Monika, and she hated the feeling. She was above that feeling of perpetual angst that she felt in the other girls, she was number one.

The next few opponents were hardly anything to write home about or even bat an eyelash at. She had comprehensive mental notes on virtually anyone she knew; and her ascended stance as a charisma magnet meant no one was spared from her thorough sweep. In truth, Monika had failed at properly manipulating Natsuki because she was so unlike these other players- she frightened Monika, and worried her that she might lose. So she panicked, and played her ace before it was necessary. Stupid. Stupid. She couldn’t let that happen in the fight with Yuri. 

The time of closure was approaching- The finale. Monika and Yuri had crawled their way up through the brackets, and now, the final act was upon them.

Monika supposed that she could just let Yuri win. Her underlying motivation was for the club, after all…. But still, the reward was tantalizing. And even more so, the decadent praise that would accompany it. If it didn’t matter who won, wouldn’t Monika be more suited to the reward? Yuri should understand that.

Soon, she caught a glimpse of Yuri. She was strolling with Natsuki and Sayori towards the table; Sayori had been handed off to Natsuki, who kept trying to use Natsuki’s short height as a way to rest her head. Every time she did so, Natsuki would shove her off, resulting in a comedic instance where Sayori would get pushed away, come back, only to get pushed away and the process would repeat again.

Oddly enough, the shell-shocked look of pure despair had melted away from Natsuki’s attitude, replaced with a more jovial, retorting stance that usually fitted her. What happened? Monika was so assured that she had been heavily scarred by those last comments….. Was she hiding it? Monika didn’t really think she had the artifice within her in order to properly mask any emotions- After all, she usually responded to anything that threatened her state of mind with spiteful retorts.

“Sayori, quit.”

“noooooo! yuri was a good pillow, but you aren’t as tall! i need your shoulder.”

“Maybe you should go to bed earlier so you don’t have to use your friends as crutches?” Yuri suggested.

“Yeah, you woke me up at 3 last night when I was baking at your house. What were you even doing?”

“eheheheh…” 

“Where was she, Natsuki?”

“In the kitchen.”

“Did you count how many cupcakes you had?”

“:O yuri! you blew my cover!”

“Why, you little punk...”

Sayori attempted to flee, but Natsuki quickly grabbed her by the hem of her shirt and pulled her back in for a nuggie. 

“auuuuuugh! natsuki O; i thought we were friends!”

“We are, but i’ve had enough of your thievery. Maybe I should chop off your hand, like they do in other countries?”

“:(“

As the group got close enough, Monika began her apology. She tried to speak from the heart, as hard as it was for her.

“Natsuki, i’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t know you were so touchy about those things.”

“What? Touchy? Don’t be ridiculous. You just beat me. That had nothing to do with it.”

….Odd. Monika expected her to deny that she was affected, but she seems so… Casual. Like she had gotten over it.

“I don’t need your apology. You can save it for yourself after Yuri beats you.”

Monika gave a questioning look. Natsuki was difficult, sure- but she had more social experience than Yuri. Monika would crack her like an egg, then collect the innards and make an omelet. She would have to be cautious as to not repeat the situation with Natsuki, but she doubted she would need to put in too much thought.

The crowd was larger than any of her previous battles- This was the grand finale. Although her supporters were still there, feeding the bloated mass that was her ego, there were also quite a many other spectators she saw far less often. If she won here, it would only be a boon to her status. There was not much more distance to climb on the ladder of popularity, but there was always a higher high. A greater climax. You could always be greater.

“Yuri, i’ll let you choose your color.”

“Black.

It fit her. Not just her somber aesthetic and liking to darker shades, but also her unwillingness to act first and presence as more of a reactor than someone who leads the charge. In truth, it didn’t matter to Monika what color she played. It didn’t matter even how the game went, to a certain level. Her strategy was unbeatable; she had reached this point on its back alone.

The beginning went about as expected, the slow build to the real heat of the battle, the clash of wills and minds. All the while, Monika considered her method of attack.

She could always bring up the scars she sometimes caught meager glances of before Yuri rolled down her sleeves, of course; but she didn’t want a repeat of the Natsuki situation, even if she seemed to had recovered, she doubted Yuri would do the same. That topic seemed especially touchy, so she’d save it for last, and approach it with tenderness if possible. She supposed she could employ the same tactic as with Natsuki, and bring up whatever was with their odd frenemies ordeal.

They seemed to be at odds, yet… Not for actual dislike for one another. Actually, Monika would wager it was the opposite: there were things they liked about one another, but those things made them anxious around one another. The pair wasn’t exactly known for being experts on social interaction so as with anything, they used their classic defense mechanisms to shy away from one another: timid egress and frightful riposte. And those defenses such amplified the feelings of anxiety, only distancing from one another.

Was there potential for something more than liking attributes? Possibly. In honesty, Monika had only intended the comment about couples as a jive, considering how set Natsuki was in isolating herself from others, especially Yuri. But it could work in her favor- they could counterbalance their toxic aspects, thus making them more approachable. And those two were the major factor in the literature club being so limited; they had a certain title of infamy that made others shy away from them. Especially Natsuki, who is surprisingly fearsome in fistfights. 

“Where were you and Natsuki in-between matches?” She could just hope that Yuri’s shy undertones would work their way to the forefront, impacting her play. Even if she refused to talk, Monika knew any questions would cause apprehension.

Yuri glanced over at Natsuki, who gave a considerably vengeful stare: the same kind of adamant grimace that had been all too common in their fight before Monika had broken her.

“We played a few practice matches against each other in-between my matches. She’s quite the opponent.”

Yuri held a decisive resolve to her words, but her performance was impacted, even if only in the most minute of ways. As long as Monika could keep this up, she could place a cloaked snare in plain sight and trap Yuri.

“I’d agree. Was there anything more than that?”

“You two sure seem to be glancing at each other a lot.”

“No, she’s just being a bit annoying.”

Clearly a lie- Yuri really wasn’t the best at concealing them. Her elegant voice began shaking slightly, compromising its flow.

“Oh? She’s right there, Yuri. Try to be considerate.”

Yuri blushed a little, before moving.

And then- Monika had caught her.

She had made a critical mistake. Monika chartered a path, weaving through each piece’s attack patterns, the moves almost showing as a transparent overlay on her mind. Clear as day, Monika could casually dance between Yuri’s pieces, before ensnaring her in the perfect checkmate. It would be perfectly dramatic, and it would only serve to hasten her credibility as an intelligent chess player.

Monika made her move, smothering the facial twitches that oh so desperately wanted to form into a grin.

“Monika, are you aware of poetic justice in literature?”

….What was she going on about? Maybe… Maybe she was trying to draw Monika off topic to regain her clear sightedness. No matter, she had already crushed Yuri mentally, so she decided to humble her.

Yuri moved- She had no idea what Monika was trying. Monika moved again.

“Of course. Its when the villain gets defeated in a way that’s just from their misdeeds, right?”

“Correct. A common trope is to have a hero defeat a villain in a fashion similar to the way the villain defeated a companion of the hero, or with some belonging or gift from the companion.”

…..

…..

Monika’s eyes were affixed to the formation of Yuri’s pieces, which almost seemed to form some demonic rune in her minds eye, set ablaze by unholy flame.

“It’s fairly satisfying for the reader, as the villian is outed in a method that makes them taste the suffering they had inflicted onto others.”

“It’s quite a beautiful trend, even if the trope has become a bit too standard.”

Yuri had been bluffing from the beginning.

Monika reversed her thought process, thinking back to Yuri’s previous moves. From the moment Monika attempted to influence her, Yuri had slowly been unraveling the spiked abyss that now stood beneath Monika’s feet. Every move that seemed weak was merely a forewarning for this grand showdown. It wouldn’t matter that Monika’s queen was mere inches from Yuri’s king; she would completely lock her down.

Yuri had lured Monika into a trap, like she had done to Natsuki.

“Check.” Said Yuri. But her voice didn’t have any sort of satisfaction to it- just conviction. 

“You know, Monika- the flaw to arrogance is shortsightedness. You can best anyone with an ego by tricking them into believing they had already won.”

Her hands were clammy. She was beginning to sweat, the irritating beads of tepid salt wetting her perfect hair. Her eyes darted around- From Natsuki, who was shaking her head with a slight grin on her face, to Yuri, who was staring directly into her eyes with icy vitriol, to Sayori, who was…. Asleep, she was pretty sure. Natsuki seemed to have forgotten about her in the midst of the action, and she had finally used her shoulder as a headrest.

Monika had no words. Desperately, she shifted her king backwards. She would rebound. Her egress would pay off.

“Check.”

Move.

“Check.”

Move.

“Check.”

Move.

“And now, you have fallen under the same loathsome pitfall  you have abused against every one of your opponents. Your anxiety has gotten the best of you, and it has decimated any remaining chances of success.”

Yuri shifted one of her pawns forward one space.

“Checkmate.”

The word clung to the air, stagnating as a blackened haze. What was this feeling? Disbelief? Anger? ….Envy? Admiration?

The crowd was silent. Everyone was silent. Natsuki’s smirk widened. Sayori breathed softly.

Natsuki extended a fist, and Yuri bumped it. Then, she raised herself from the seated position, turning to the official as chatter began in the crowd. Not the supportive kind Monika was used to- A bitter, speculative tone.

“She just destroyed Monika….”

“She went into an entire monologue about it, too.”

“Did you see those eyes? I swore I could see my own death through those eyes.”

Yuri spoke up in a collected manner to the official.

“I’ll be giving the article to Monika.”

And then, she walked off, Natsuki following close behind in the wake of a confused Sayori.

She’d see them again at the awards ceremony.

But for now, all she did was continue sitting in that chair, looking over the static pieces. Shocked disbelief and a fair amount of anger at herself.

  
  


_ Finale _

 

_ A bed of dust. _

_ A table of ivory. _

_ A gap in space. _

_ A beginning. _

_ Equality. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Bloody Queen  
> Whew. Moooooar Monika character! I tried to justify some of the stuff she did last time, because honestly some of that was just way too cold. Yuri can really lay the smackdown when she needs to, she's a pretty terrifying person when she gets the conviction to make it count.


	8. Lone Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spades game continues, but not quite as expected.
> 
> Sayori and Monika finally admit something has been going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much for 2000 hits and 150 Kudos! This is, a huge milestone. And I didn't want to forget about this after I didn't say anything after 100 and 2000, haha. It just seems to be going... So fast! And I can't believe i'm up there with some fics that are so much better than mine.
> 
> Once again, I love some comments!
> 
> I recently wrote [Verdant Reflection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13670760/chapters/31402671) For someone's birthday! It's definitely not the same style as passerby, and Monika is a LOT different, but if you like the way I describe things you'll probably like this (Plus it has some hints towards the overarching plot im doing at... Some point.)

The misty haze of recollection lifted off Yuri’s eyes, as her attention was drawn back to the action of the present. It was a fond memory; a bubbly, joyful feeling exuded from it, before eventually a malignant shade of somberness replaced that positivity. That time of camaraderie was terse, after all: not soon after, a scuffle set them back to cold indifference.

Yuri supposed perhaps that nostalgic yearn to see the same Natsuki that she had in those days was her motivation for these bold actions that were so uncharacteristic of her. Natsuki’s decisive willpower seemed more of a boon than a detriment in those days, and she could feel teamwork between them: a faint buzzing as energy and emotions sprung between the two.

Admittedly, usurping Monika’s throne at that time was a communal effort. Whilst Yuri plotted the specific formation that would blindside her and paint a gossamer glimmer of grandeur over her eyes, Natsuki instructed on Yuri exactly how to act in order to complete the bluff, and seal her fate. Nothing had made Yuri happier that day then finally having their plan finally come to fruition, and to see that giddy mood from Natsuki afterward that seemed to lift off the constant weight of spite off her.

Unfortunately, the mere fallibility and short nature of any relationship, mixed with their frothing personalities, meant that they were destined to meet together in another storm of disagreement eventually. All good things must come to an end; but that didn’t mean Yuri couldn’t still attempt to begin anew.

Sayori shifted the deck over to Monika, before Natsuki spoke up with a pout.

N: “Nope! What did I just say, you two?”

S: “....i’m shuffling? :?”

N: “And dealing, until we pass the deck.”

S: “:/ that’s kinda dumb.”

N” “You’re kind of dumb”

S: “:O”

M: “Really? Are you going to have her cut, too?”

N: “Yuri can cut, I guess.”

S: “hey, wait a minute! since when did miss snarky snark decide everything?”

M: “Since she decided to refuse to play if we didn’t.”

M: “Don’t worry, Sayori. No matter what she has us do, we’ll still win. She’s so… Paranoid.”

N: “Paranoid? Really? Do I need to bring up the chess tournament again?”

Monika visibly winced.

M: “No thank you.”

N: “Hmmph. That’s what I thought.”

Natsuki really did use it as ammo quite a lot- after all, it was one of the few things that could pierce through Monika’s ego. It dealt quite a hefty blow to her self-esteem, and status, for that matter. Apologizes were in order from both ends that it wasn’t in bad faith, but Yuri had a feeling that Monika’s spite ran deep, even if she did care about everyone else.

Sayori passed the deck to Yuri, who cut, gracefully placing it next to Sayori, who haphazardly began flipping out the cards to each person, often throwing them off the side of the table from misuse.

M: “So, everyone- How have you been putting up with this weather? Can’t say I enjoy having every one of my extracurriculars canceled in one fell swoop.”

N: “We get it Monika, you do a lot of stuff. You don’t have to rub it in on us  _ mere peasants.” _

S: “stop being such a grump! just because you’re lazy doesn’t mean you get a chance to bulli her!”

N: “Sayori, you have texted me multiple times to come to your house to CARRY you to the couch because you were that lazy.”

S: “:o you weren’t supposed to talk about that!”

N: “What, like I wasn’t supposed to talk about the time you gorged yourself on every cupcake I baked, and I had to make an entirely new batch? I swear, having to rely on you for mix is the worst.”

S: “:ooooo! fine, be that way! just you wait missy, i’ll find dirt on you eventually….”

Seeing as this conversation was going absolutely nowhere, Yuri hesitantly spoke up, words jittering together.

Y: “I-i, erm… I liked it.”

M: “Liked what, Yuri?”

Y: “Eh… The uh, rain.”

M: “Oh, right. That seems like the sort of thing you’d like.” Monika said, quite dismissively before opening her mouth to transition to another point. Yuri looked down at the table bashfully for being glossed over.

N: “Hey, Monika! You can’t just…. Ignore her like that.”

Monika seemed very taken aback, that all too familiar slight glint in her eye of mild egoism and uncharacteristic callousness. But, as soon as it was there- It was gone. Washed away by that plastered expression of emerald kindness.

M: “Of course! I mustn't have been thinking. Thank you for reminding me, Natsuki.”

Natsuki looked clutched in the snaring hands of thought; almost like she was scrutinizing exactly what she just said. It was, indeed, out of the ordinary for her. Responding to anyone who slighted her was certainly commonplace, but for someone like… Yuri?

By this point, the cards were dealt- Now might be a good time to explain spades, for those unacquainted.

[Here](https://www.pagat.com/boston/spades.html) with a few houserules: 

In total, each team must bid a minimum of at least four, which is called “Board.” Each bid is called a “book” instead of a trick, partners can converse about their bidding, the two jokers are included (And are treated as spades higher than the ace of spades), Nil may only be attempted while 100 points behind, and blind nil while 200 points behind, and not making your bid is called being “set”

In terms of relevance to the quirky girls at hand, it was a… Mixed bag, to say the least. Sayori was by far the least proficient, although she seemed to not take her deficiency to heart, merely ecstatic to spend time bantering with her companions. Her epithet had long since become “bag girl” for her tendency to egregiously underbid, which was favorable to being set: but often resulted in her partner furiously attempting to regain lost ground as they fell 100 points behind, which sometimes necessitates nil or blind nil (Which Sayori was notoriously terrible for covering her partner in)

Natsuki was essentially the opposite, although to a lesser extent. The overbidding wasn’t necessarily game-losing (Like Sayori’s rampant bag-collecting) But it was still a nuisance, especially if Monika was your opponent and played hyper-aggressively to set you as many times as possible. Natsuki’s bold tenacity wouldn’t allow her to stand down from any geas- even obviously high bids.

You’d think from previous showings of Monika’s concealed arrogance that she’d take into the same vein as Natsuki in overestimating her prowess, and to a certain degree, you’d be accurate. However, the preference was dismal compared to Natsuki’s bold overconfidence: it appeared as if the snake had scrutinized her previous debacles from every viewpoint, finely collecting analysis and refining her strategy- Or perhaps Yuri was overthinking things. It did, however, humble Yuri; she had seemingly helped her colleague amend some of the more troubling issues in her personality, although much brackish undergrowth remained.

Yuri herself- Well, she ideated herself as quite superb, although the grounded facets of her ego fastened her tightly to the earth, reminding of her less than ideal characteristics. She was surely triumphing over Natsuki and Sayori’s expertise, although that was a statement lacked any real bravado. Her real crux was teamplay; it is quite difficult to properly assess bids or cover a partner during nil or blind nil when disclosure between yourself and your partner seems glazed and rusty.

The starting hand was incredibly dull- Not horrendous, but it could work to accentuate the dramatic tension of this game.

Turning to her partner while they arranged their cards into neat suites, Yuri spoke in a tone as soft as decaying leaves in the wintery howls of winter’s last gasps.

Y: “...Natsuki, have you improved on your, erm, bidding?”

N: “What are you trying to say?” She said, a little offended.

Y: “W-well, you do have a tendency to… Umm… Go over.”

Y: “Bid, that is.”

N: “Hmmph. I’m at LEAST as good as you.”

Y: “Well, um, yes…? I wasn’t implying anything….”

N: “You sure do say that phrase a lot.”

Y: “Well, I never want to offend you….”

Natsuki hid her face behind her fan of cards to conceal her real features.

N: “Well, don’t. I can handle it… Alright?”

N: “I don’t want to be that one friend who its like walking on eggshells around.”

Y: “....Okay.”

Y: “Thanks for, um….”

Y: “Doing that.”

N: “Stop being such a dork about it, okay? It wasn’t for you, it was for me.”

N: “What’s your bid?”

Despite Natsuki’s usual discharge of tension, Yuri appreciated the attempt of amicability. At least this experiment had an effort on both sides, even if somewhat pitiful from each contestant. Did she remember better times? Was she feeling the same way as Yuri?

...Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous, she’s probably just humbling Yuri.

Y: “Two, maybe three. I, err, don’t think we should bid queens until we see how Monika plays.”

N: “Yuri, I pretty much only have queens.”

Y: “....Do you want to go board?”

N: “What? No! C’mon. I only have a few in most of the suites. Lets just go a 5.”

In spades, oftentimes having a meager amount of cards in a suite is treated as a book, considering in the event that you consume those two cards quickly, you can immediately spade the suite and quickly steal what might have been a guaranteed book from the enemy team.

Y: “Natsuki, what if I was the one who held all of those cards?”

N: “W-well, do you?”

Y: “....No….”

N: “And your point is?”

Y: “I just wanted to point a flaw in your reasoning out…”

N: “...Thanks, I guess?”

N: “5 it is?”

N: “5 it is.”

With our bid decided, we turn to Sayori and Monika, who seemed to be bickering in a jovial manner so reminiscent of some sort of sisterly or romantic affection. Not that Yuri particularly had any longstanding memories of comedy with Brigid…. Their interactions were cold and callous, but still enjoyable: fencing, reading, writing… Certainly not warm and fuzzy, but constructive nonetheless.

M: “Sayori, we are NOT going board.”

S: “c’mon, pleeeeeaasssse? i don’t wanna get set by yuri on our first round.”

S: “last game she set me like, fifty times! :(“

M: “You know, Sayori, I was her partner in that game….”

S: “and i specifically told you to go easy on me! so it had to be yuri.”

M: I’m not going to give you an advantage just because you’re my….”

Monika suddenly abruptly split off her sentence, as if remembering something.

N: “Do you two have something to tell us?” Natsuki starred and crossed her arms defiantly.

N: “Why yes, actually! We’re bidding 6.” Monika said, promptly dodging the question.

S: “Monikaaaa….”

M: “Hush, you. Don’t you have enough bags for your collection already?”

S: “:o i’m being bulli’d from all angles! you traitor!” 

M: “Shhhh….” Monika smushed Sayori’s lips together, giving her a look akin to a fish. Sayori continued speaking, then gained a confused look in her eye.

S: “ _ confused mumbling” _

Natsuki just rolled her eyes. Even in calm moment such as these, you could still see that beautiful resolve surrounding her like a halo of white flame licking and lashing at anything that came with a proximity. It was fixating and graceful, in its own, striking way seperate from the common associations with the word.

N: “Monika, get your hands off your girlfriend’s lips and play the damn game. You’re up first.”

M: “We’re not…”

S: “mmmph.” Sayori protested through her closed lips, with a not all too serious scowl aimed at Monika.

M: “Okay, maybe a little bit.”

N: “You can’t be a ‘little bit’ dating. That’s like…. Being a ‘little bit’ dead. Or a ‘little bit’ real. This is a…. Binary state. Or whatever.”

Yuri remembered teaching her that term- It somehow enamored her that she had remembered.

N: “Yuri, back me up here.”

To be honest, the last thing Yuri wanted to participate was this discussion. She was far more suited to scrutinizing the implications from a distance, rather than participating and completely destroying any real social aptitude she was believed to have.

Y: “U-ummm, yes. I don’t, uhhh….”

Y: “Think you should have concealed this from us. I’ve been spotting tells for quite some time.”

N: “What, you knew about this for HOW long?”

Y: “I’ve had my suspicions for… About an interval of one month.”

N: “Really? So you’ve known about this since the chess tournament.”

Y: “....Yes.”

N: “Oh c’mon! Not a single one of you can tell me anything about this?”

N: “You’re not off the hook, either- Yuri.”

Y: “We don’t really…. Talk. And it seemed like they didn’t want it known.”

N: “Well, now we DO talk.”

N: “But seriously, Monika?”

M: “I mean, we never really… Made it official?”

M: “It kind of just happened.”

S: “mmmph.”

M: “Okay fine, you’re free to go.”

Monika released Sayori’s lips, who gave an exaggerated gasp for air as if she had been suffocating.

S: “meanie >:(“

Monika bopped her on the nose, laughing, then flicked out a card and began the game.  

S: “don’t think your boops can save you…”

N: “Wait, let me get this straight… How can you two be dating ‘without dating?’ That’s fucking stupid.”

M: “Language.”

S: “we just never liked, said it, i guess? It kinda just became that and we didn’t complain…”

N: “Well, I’M complaining. I want a definitive answer here. You two are either gonna confirm this or deny this, right now.”

S: “do i haaaaveeee to?”

N: “Yes.”

Y: “I think that’s overstepping your domain, Natsuki…”

N: “Hey! I’m HELPING.”

N: “How do you even get in a relationship like that? I’m sure if the same thing happened to me we would immediately start.”

M: “Have you ever even been in a relationship?”

At that moment, Natsuki’s face turned a shade of red akin to the color of Sayori’s hair, shaking vehemently and appearing as if she was going to combust in a shower of wrath.

N: “Why…. Why i’ll have you know that yes, I have!”

M: “If its before high school, it doesn’t count.”

N: “It… It totally fucking does.”

M: “Language.”

N: “Oh, shut the hell up, Monika.”

To complement her spite, Natsuki laid down her little joker early to trump Monika’s ace, only to have Sayori crush it while squeaking a “tee-hee”, before Natsuki shot her a glare that could turn flesh to stone and she quickly shut up.

Monika and Natsuki continued their aimless bickering, much to Yuri’s exasperation. The room was filled with the cacophony or high pitched half-yelling on one side, with perfectly calm deadpan on the other, often saying “language” in response.

Sayori leaned over and tentatively whispered in Yuri’s ear.

S: “those two are really something, huh?”

They were something, surely; their relationship had mended considerably since the fallout and awkward, solemn silence that followed the tournament. Gone were the days wherein Natsuki really began any real discourse: now, the only conflict was this semi-jovial banter.

Y: “Indeed.”

Y: “So, will you be attending prom with the missus now that the order is settled?”

S: “i erm, guess.”

S: “i didn’t really ever make it official because i was worried it would make me look really weird… “

S: “but i guess i don’t really care anymore, because i feel more weird when nobody knows what's going on…”

S: “plus its monika, so people probably wouldn’t diss her girlfriend.”

Y: “I’m sure, or they’d risk total ostracization. I’m sure she would spare no mercy.”

S: “yep! that’s my girl :P”

The pair were suddenly jolted out of their conversation by another quip from Natsuki.

N: “What? No, i’m not gay!”

M: “I don’t know, Natsuki…. Sayori’s gaydar never lies….”

Sayori seemed out of the moment, staring with a glazed look out into the infinite depth of cognizant thought before Monika nudged her. Then, Monika made the motion of pushing an invisible button, and all the while Natsuki glared with her most unamused expression.

S: “oh! Heheh!, beeeeep! getting a really strong signal from yuri over here….”

Monika facepalmed, as Yuri glanced away to completely hide her expression of shaky embarrassment.

M: “Sayori, I was telling you to do the joke on Natsuki…”

S: “oh, sorry.”

S: “pretty sure they are both equally gay, anyways….”

N: “Can you stop changing the topic and just ask each other out already? I need my decisive answer.”

Sayori smiled with an evil, reddish tint in her eye.

S: “....okay.”

S: “but i need to get the recorder to play a love song… the atmosphere has to be  _ perfect. _ yuri would understand.”

N: “Wait.”

N: “WAIT NO”

N: “I TAKE IT BACK.”   


But it was too late. Sayori had already dashed off, leaving the meager assortment of recluses with a half-finished round of spades.

A couple of weeks ago, Sayori had gone out on one of her usual extraneous shopping sprees for a variety of useless drivel she would probably never put to any effect, including a recorder (despite already being incredibly poignant on her guitar…) It became readily apparent its sole purpose was to use it to annoy Natsuki.

Natsuki pouted to herself.

N: “Control your girlfriend, Monika.”

M: “Remember! We aren’t girlfriends yet! You said so.” She paired the irritatingly upbeat tone with that iconic finger pose she seemed to do all the time.

M: “So I guess I can't help whatever she does….”

N: “Oh, come on! Don’t twist my words against me!”

Y: “You, err… Sort of tumbled right into that one.”

N: “Well, I….”

Natsuki was cut short by the sound of incomprehensible screeching vaguely in the form of “My heart will go on” echoing throughout the room, originating from the adjacent hallway. It sounded like a squeaky, rusted hinge, or the last cry of death from a hyena.

Natsuki promptly covered her ears, while humming a more pleasurable tune to herself.

N: “Da da da da dum, dum dee doo dee deee….”

Sayori raised the volume substantially as she walked in and saw this, and the tone became and unbearable screech.

Monika mocked coming to passionate tears of joy.

M: “It’s…. It’s so beautiful, Sayori. I’ve never heard anything this beautiful in my life.” Monika’s words simply flowed with the most vile sarcasm.

Natsuki released out a pent-up yell of frustration, before leaping from her seat like a possessed monkey and beginning to fervently chase after Sayori, who continued playing while dodging out of the way of her attempts to grab the blasted thing.

Sayori finally ended the devil’s chorus, before speaking in as calm of a tone as she could while running circles around the kitchen from the pink wolf on her tail.

S: “monika! do you want to go out with me?”

M: “Why, of course, Sayori!”

S: “oh monika, i’m so ha-HUK”

Sayori’s sarcastic speaking speedly stopped as she was slammed into the surface of the carpet by Natsuki, in a fairly rigorous tackle dive that showed just how fiesty Natsuki could be. They began furiously squirming about as Sayori attempted to hold onto the recorder.

N: “SAYORI, GIVE ME THE RECORDER!”

S: “no! it’s mine! i bought it with my own money!”

N: “YOU’RE CAUSING A CIVIL DISTURBANCE OR WHATEVER THE FUCK TO MY PEACE! THAT’S AGAINST THE LAW!”

S: “nuh-uh!”

Yuri simply sighed and turned to Monika.

Y: “We aren’t finishing this game, are we.”

M: “I wouldn’t count on it.”

And with that, the two responsible adults packed the cards back into their carton while the two banshees howled and writhed on the floor.

N: “SAYORI, I WILL THROW YOU.”

S: “:o you wouldn’t!”

Natsuki let out a barbarian screech as she picked up sayori and chucked her directly into the couch.

S: “eeeeeeep!” 

Yuri wasn’t sure exactly how much of her faith in Sayori and Natsuki they could degenerate in the span of one hour, but in a strange way…

She felt at home.

 

_ Lone Flame _

 

_ It was a lone flame _

_ Soon to burn itself out. _

_ It flickered into the infinite eldritch depths. _

_ It was almost null. _

_ And it found something else in that void. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Baker's Quarter  
> Jeez, ummm... This is another biggie, like balloon. Dialogue just seems to bloat everything, and I even cut spades short because I really wanted to get to the actual more tender Natsyuri stuff and introducing brigid (squeee!)
> 
> Some MonikaXSayori, I guess. I really liked just... Playing out interactions, I guess? You could call this a filler chapter, before the real good stuff next time!
> 
> I also do kind of find this as a fault- There are a lot of fics that seem to focus on Yuri and Natsuki a little bit too much. Its not a huge deal- But it is kind of weird just how much they get glanced over, and I don't really want to do that.
> 
> In the inevitable jojo stand au that I do (Name pending) There will be an equal focus, hopefully. That's still a ways off, maybe. I still want to do more other than Yuri and Natsuki chapters in this, too.


	9. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri and Natsuki finally head to the bookstore, although there is still an unnerving tension between the two...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying something a little different: First person perspective! Tell me what you think.
> 
> Also, please give me criticism or any kind of comment! You can definitely help my writing style, as you can see i've made some changes next chapter!
> 
> Next update will be another fractured pane chapter. Which if you haven't been reading, you can go ahead and find [Here!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13698045/chapters/31463643)

I didn’t really ever think i’d be doing something like this.

Sure, I was the one who hastily diverted Yuri into going to a bookstore with me. But I assumed she would chicken out, or Sayori would beg for me to stay behind with those puppy eyes you swear that just burrow deep into your soul. Yuri’s like an owl, really. She’s always there, perched just beyond your reach. Always looking, always peering- but you’ll never get close enough to actually interact with her. And just like an owl, you wish you could (Because owls are really cool) but you never can.

I guess where that metaphor really falls flat is Yuri isn’t particularly violent. Owls are magnificent birds of prey who stalk prey from miles away from perches they would never see coming, and yet Yuri is just about the most gentle person I know- Sayori is always delightful, but she has that certain aspect of clumsy clinging to her, when she doesn’t quite understand it’s not the correct time to get in someone’s personal space. Like when she tackles me in the middle of a hallway, or hugs me to steal one of my cupcakes. Monika has that aura of authenticity to her, but it’s like the frosting on a cupcake. You might get that sweet, delectable tang on the first few bites, but it’s really just meant to exist to mask the more bland part. Or in Monika’s case, the more odious part. And i’m… Well, i’m me.

But I can't help but continue this somewhat arbitrary owl metaphor, because I get the sense a sparrow or a robin is somehow…. Odd for her. Maybe it’s because she reads horror, but wouldn’t a raven be more appropriate, then? No, ravens are too callous for her.

I blush, realizing that i’ve just been focusing all of my thoughts onto what kind of bird Yuri would be. It’s a bit weird how wandering minds can be sometimes, and when left to its own devices it's sort of like leaving youtube on autoplay for a while. You’ll start out on something perfectly relevant, until you fall asleep and wake up to some rap song you absolutely loathe. At least i’m already facing away from Yuri- I’m looking out the window of her car, trying to scrutinize the translucent tickling of rain that has begun to pick up. It’s usually not my thing to be this absent-minded, but I suppose i’m trying to take Yuri’s advice and care more about the atmosphere i’m in. Beats talking to her, anyways.

I think you can definitely tell, to a certain extent, someone’s character from their car choice. I’m not going to go around spouting that you can somehow pluck deep into their soul and grasp out some unholy secret you never knew (I don’t think Monika’s car ever told anyone she was that… Vile sometimes) but there’s just that subtle tell. Yuri’s car, for example, was a volkswagen sedan of some kind in black. I don’t know the model, and i’m sure as hell not going to ask her or look like an idiot by staring at the car as we get out, but it doesn’t really matter.

It has this certain succulent aroma to it that oozes the kind of whodunit, archaic style Yuri was into. There was that underlying, base tone of leather, but also the muted scent of a yellowing page of a book, and maybe a subtle hint of lavender. It’s the kind of fragrance you’d expect to smell in some dated home that has seen many lives; the kind of bouquet perfume companies would probably never bottle but still smelled lovely in its own right. It makes me feel a bit insecure (As I don’t think my car (if I had one) would smell this lovely) but at least i’m not Monika, who sprays perfume as artificial as her outward personality, so saccharine you can't help but sometimes gag around her. 

A gloomy ether of leadlike tones seemed to coat every sburban facade we passed by. This is probably why I loathe the rain so much: it seems to reduce the vivid, eccentric colors of every situation down to mellow shells of their former beauty. I think I can see why Yuri likes it, though. Rain was always associated with mystery, and death in some sense. It was probably because of the color shift, or the fact everything became so cold and clammy, or probably even how much it resembled weeping; but every funeral scene I had ever seen in fiction was always in the rain. It’s a pretty stupid trope, but I probably wouldn’t be able to stray away from it. Any time i’ve tried actually fictional writing I always end up stumbling face-first into those pitfalls, even if I don’t know they exist. Maybe it’s some sort of subconscious blueprint, embedded into our DNA after having generations of the same shitty stories be told. 

The modern, pearly homes of Sayori’s district slowly faded into the more venerable, decrepit homes around Yuri’s and my own- This must be a shortcut to wherever we are going. I’m here simply because my family couldn’t really afford anything too crisp when we moved in so long ago, but Yuri’s family has an estate near the forest and highways. I’ve always wanted to go there, but it’s probably just a perverse sense of curiosity so that some sick part of my brain can envy her even more.

Yuri’s mellow voice, like silky orchids- Melded with the soft sound of rainfall muted by the car. It’s annoying that i’ll have to talk, but I have been kind of a weirdo by just plastering my face to the passenger-side window instead of talking to the person I was going shopping with. For books, yeah. But it’s still shopping.

“I’d like to get a fair reading of exactly what kind of mood you like your literature to convey. Do you always go for more… Mundane settings?” An inquisitive, perky tone, but it still had that minor uncomfort to it. That was good, at least. It made me sure she wasn’t being mocking, which was a pretty folly fear, but you could blame Monika for that one. “Mundane” Kind of stung, though.

“I guess I always like anything I read to have some part of it be normal. Helps me identify with it.” What I didn’t tell her was the actual reasoning, that more normal settings helped me fade off into the fantasies of a different life. I never really understood how people could use more elaborate settings to escape from reality- Maybe I just lacked imagination?

“And more lighthearted tones, is that it?” She said.

“Yeah. I don’t really like it when anyone dies or the story gets too real for me.” Yeah, I guess Yuri and I read for completely different reasons. I did it completely as egress from my shitty life, but she did it to envelop herself into something enthralling. I never really got that kind of thinking; when I read to be free of my grievances, I don’t want a book making me feel scared or more depressed than I was beforehand.

“Would you mind if I strayed a fair bit beyond that grouping?” She queried, the hesitant base rising a little, almost like she knew I would probably say no. I guess I could try, considering I haven’t exactly put much effort into expanding my horizons, especially when it cost so much to get the stuff I already liked. It was more for her than me, as a little reward for being so forthcoming and amicable for once, but I would never tell her that. She might get a little too ambitious and think we’re best friends or something.

“Sure. Like I said, it better be pretty thin. I don’t think I could work my way through some of the one’s as thick as my arm.” It’s not that I didn’t have the capability, its that my attention would tire and gradually decay, until I lost interest. Manga at least managed to always have a certain level of pizazz to it that could hold your eyes for much longer than overbearing iron constructs of text- And the snappier sentences were a whole lot easier to read, especially with… Whatever condition I had. Maybe one day i’d ask Monika or Yuri, since I think they might know a little bit about psychology, but i’d have to grow a spine and actually be able to talk about my insecurities for that to happen, so probably never.

The conversation paused for a little bit, as Yuri seemed to drift into a more contemplative tone: she was probably thinking about what to get me. She portioned part of her attention into driving, swiveling onto one of the more major roads and rolling past glum strip malls wetted with mercurial pools of glistening, drab silver puddles. As I continue to avoid her warm eyes, I try to kindle the waning conversation.

“What about you? Would you mind if I got you something a little, uh… Cheerier?” I can’t say I nearly had any expertise in her subjects, mostly for lack of trying. I didn’t want to stumble along the shelves, arbitrarily grasping at some random text that “Looked cool” only for it to turn out to be a vampire romance novel or something. As long as we are going somewhere that has a sufficient amount of manga I might be able to wing it, but something tells me Yuri’s choice is going to be more… Acquainted. 

“Oh… Well, yes. I’ve actually read quite a few novels like that. I don’t particularly dislike them.” Once again, I had to stamp out that little pestering fly of a thought that kept telling me she was mocking me. If it was Monika, maybe; but I couldn’t help but think that line seemed to be the sheer antithesis of the kind of dislike I had for things outside of my sphere. I guess it was another thing for me to envy from her and then despise myself for later: I could feel the feelings of bitter spite tingling at the back of my head. I’m sure that if it didn’t feel like there was a honey badger in my stomach from aching hunger (Even after I just ate…) or that distant irritation from lack of rest I could be more accepting like her. I’m sure that if he didn’t exist I could be more like her. I’m sure that if I wasn’t such a dumbass I could be more like her. I’m sure that….

I press the flattened side of my head to the side of the window, feeling the sapphire coils of cold transfer through the glass pane, then through my messy swirl of magenta fluff and finally into the idiotic folds of my brain, dousing whatever thoughts were ricocheting in that vacuous void with needed repose.

I hardly noticed that Yuri had turned on her blinker and gently transitioned into the parking lot of a… Strangely reminiscent building. Some string of Deja Vu tickled at me as I wracked the poor, overworked thing for what was bothering me…

Oh.

That’s right. This was actually a bookstore I knew well. Or, the only bookstore. It was that one; that one that seemed to have survived centuries of use, the one shelved with a disjointed maze of alleys between its two floors. This was the singular bookstore I went to for a variety of reasons, but it was incredibly convenient because of its distance from my house and the sheer affordability of anything contained within. The coarse price tags almost seemed to read your estimate for the particular worth of something, then shift their values while you were looking away, resulting in a lower price than you were always expecting. I liked its vast, swirling labyrinth of shelves, its zany placement of furniture that meant you could find some place to read almost anywhere, and it’s deep crevices and corners where no one would disturb you in. I liked how they had a monumental amount of manga, and how simply diverse it was. And I liked how I would never run into anyone from school. Not only was reading particularly old-fashioned, no sane person would devolve themselves to this shoddy housing.

And it was a middling shock that Yuri, of all people, would select this place, especially on an outing where she was probably attempting to look as approachable as she could. With the pure affluence her family contained, like a shifting mound of golden spectacle found beneath an inky tarp- You’d think she’d at least choose a bookstore that had modern, bleached copies. It was fairly embarrassing for Natsuki, as well; the entire point of allowing Yuri to select of her own accord was to avoid having to tell her that this is where she shopped.

She parked the car with her usual elegant, elongated movements, before grasping her umbrella from her bag and stepping out, outstretching it. I got out as well, feeling the faint patter of water against my hair before I flipped up my hood. 

“I-if you’d like, you could use my umbrella, Natsuki.” Sure enough, there was a fairly large gap underneath the oily, black thing. I didn’t particularly need to, because of my raincoat, but keeping my pants from getting wet was probably in my best interest. Besides, I don’t think denying her request would exactly help to bring any warmth to the mood that had already grown cold with the sky’s wintery tears around is.

We had near the entrance, and I do my best to try to remain as socially active as I can, despite feeling incredibly uncomfortable right now. There was this strange… Hearty nature to her. Being this close, I can almost feel a sort of kindling flame despite this chill around us.

“So… Why’d you choose here?” There’s still that faint hint of embarrassment to my voice, and it's incredibly aggravating. Sometimes, I wish I was like Monika the machine and was able to mask any emotion behind an unwavering veil of transparent water, but then I always scold myself for even thinking that. Monika’s fine, but that’s probably the most uneasy aspect to her. As much as I hate being that cutesy, pink volcano of rage, I think i’d hate being as much of a poser as her even more.

“Hmmm, well…” She paused, opening the glass door plastered with different stickers and notices for me. I make a hasty step inside, not wanting to keep her waiting.

“There’s this certain… Atmosphere to it. Can you feel it? That distant, pungent waft of the creasing, yellow pages. The errant flick of a reader flipping to their next instance in the story, the creak of aged spines and of antique furniture.” She has that same fervor, that same passion you can see small bouts of in her speaking. I keep quiet, not wanting to disturb it- Like it’s some intricate, gossamer butterfly on my hand. 

“New bookstores are completely acceptable, but they lack any of this.. Substance. They are institutions, companies. The only ideals in the air is that of monetary exchange. You can sense the real emotional value in these places. They’re run by real people, and every one is one of a kind. You can find vast arrays of novels you never even would come close to finding while perusing through the stale, new shelves of those places.”

“...I guess I really never thought about it that way” There is a certain sense of admirable authenticity to the place. The low ceiling with its various hanging nick-nacks, the almost claustrophobic feeling of two shelves disproportionately placed by some human error, the small trinkets and odd hanging art choices, and the scattered pieces of furniture all contributed to some… Character to the place. It was a living, breathing person, with its own fairly quirky details. I had always been slightly irritated by the lack of uniformity in the place, but it did make it… Stand out in my mind.

“Do you want to split up and look for the books we’re getting?” I asked. For once, it wasn’t actually to get away from her: I just knew the manga section was probably on the other side of the store.

“....Yes. We’ll meet here again?” She asked.

“Yeah.” And with that I darted off, heading for the stairwell.

It was a somewhat cramped enclosure, only enough real space for two people side by side. A variety of odd paintings and displays covered it, including a couple mounted animals and book sets. The glassy eyes almost seemed to… Look in different directions every time I got a glance at them. I must be going crazy. ..What was this feeling in my chest?

I moved throughout the second floor, past every seemingly infinite aisle, stretching onwards into the horizon with clumsily stacked tomes, in such varying shades and sizes. The manga section was wedged into a smaller end of the building: and that’s how I liked it. You had this end of the hallway, stacked paperbacks on all sides, with a few messy towers around a very comfortable couch next to a window. I’d love to sit here and immerse myself into someone else’s life while hearing the ceaseless frays of the rain outside, but i’ve got a mission.

As trailed my finger across each of the creased backings and vibrant fonts, I almost seemed to lose track of myself, suffocated in thoughts about what to find for her. Before I know it, i’ve almost moved all the way into an entirely different section…

My fingers halt over a particular issue. I know this one- It was outwardly cheery, slice of life stuff. The kind I liked. Then, abruptly, about halfway through- it hit me with a gut-wrenching plot twist. I had to put the thing down from disgust, but… It does seem to be Yuri’s… “Type.” Maybe it would even give her a little scare. I chuckled at that thought. I plucked it from the shelf, and dashed off back to the stairwell.

What was this… Was I… Excited?

 

_ Two _

_ Two, through in through. _

_ Everyone has two. _

_ You have two. _

_ They have two. _

_ This would be true, _

_ If not for me and few. _


	10. Sides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri reflects on a memory of her sister, Brigid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brigid reveal (yaaaay)  
> Brigid's the best. I'll go into it a little bit more at the end notes, but you'll see!

I think there’s this certain sense of tranquility to making amends.

In the end, every process in the universe desires perfect harmony. Elements desire to be stable, complex beings are eventually returned to dust, energy will homogenize until the great heat death undoes us all. That’s why, all grievances come to an end eventually. I suppose the same could be said for love, too; but in these moments, I don’t particularly care for the soury shade of blessed light. Emotions like hatred and rage dull over time- they always will. Just like a flame only lasts until it consumes its own kindling, or the sun will only flicker for as long as it can beautifully merge elements in its radiant display.

I pluck each memory from my mind, like a petal from that splendid orchid. The exact age is hazy to me, but it doesn’t particularly matter. Numbers never really have any sense of meaning to them, merely vague characters we construct to relate ideas. When you hear the word “Seventeen” it’s not 17 that you really hear, but “A teenager, near adulthood.” Of course, for this story… I wasn’t that age. I was a child, on the uneasy transition between childhood and adolescence.

There’s not many people I share tears with, but Brigid and- For a time, my mother, were my islands. My hiding place, my place to mull between every dagger against my resolve, far more than those actual locations. It’s strangely ironic, how every person has their own tender shields against appearances of weakness, despite the fact that any crumbling shell to hide those interiors is weakness itself, perhaps a grander weakness than any you would wish to conceal. True confidence isn’t Monika’s stalwart and energetic armor, Natsuki’s bitter riposte, Sayori’s tear-streaked mask, or even my own attempts at egress from any situation where I might draw out my darker flaws. It’s offering them out for anyone who would care, and letting yourself be helped. I think sis knows this better than anyone; she had two sayings: “You cannot begin to heal until you allow yourself to be healed” and, well…

One such day I collapsed in Brigid’s lap all those years ago, on my edge of adolescence, holding those somber buds of weakness and weeping to myself all on the day and the ride home. She did not answer, but I think that stoic silence to her fit her for my guardian far better than any incessant coddling could. Her features may very well have been chiseled from marble for how little they quivered, even with her sister bawling in her company: but that eerie lack of any recompense assured me that she cared. She cared enough to respect my ability to know she cared, and enough to focus all of her spirit into thinking, rather than cooing with “It’ll be alright” and “I’m here for you” Like my mother or father might have done, while I still knew them. Our exchange was not particularly tender, nor heartfelt: but she allowed me to snivel in her lap and into her velvety garment of raven’s black, and gently stroked at my hair. It’s a true embarrassment that her idle working of my hair soon became my defense mechanism, an easy escape, back into her arms.

She had not needed to utter a word as I recovered from my suffocation in my own waters, I understood. With that phantom exchange between us, I knew it was time to confess, to explain my actions.

“B-big sis, I… There were these kids at recess, and they… They took my books and threw them into the woods, and stole my lunch money, an- an…” I was a terrible, wobbling fragment of my usual eloquent self, even in those times. My posture, my form… Had vanished. I was just a girl. A weak girl, a weak girl who wanted to be her sister or her mom more than anything. Even then, I didn’t understand the true genius of her mending, so her next comment truly surprised me.

“Do you hate them?” Not a single fragile splinter of sadness, or even anger revealed itself in that sentence. She seemed the same way she was when she would pore over her medical documents, or sit me on her lap and explain the deeper symbols behind a story. I had expected the usual comforts, but what was this….?

“I… I hate them.. And…” I was still bleary-eyed, fervent with a vile mixture of pity towards myself and that volatile pool of anger, so chaotically mixing together into that cocktail of spite.

“Stop.” She pressed a finger to my lips, and I thought time had stopped in the dusty air of the family library. The sheer authority, yet tenderness in her voice could command masses. 

“Yuri…. Yuri. There were two things I always told you to remember, right? What was the first one?” Her tone wasn’t mocking, nor even disappointed. Merely… Questioning. She knew I had either forgotten or ignored her warnings, yet she had no real inflection behind those words that betrayed either of those emotions.

“Y-you cannot begin to heal until you allow yourself to be healed?” I was dumbfounded, somewhat shocked where she was taking this, but also somewhat embarrassed I might have forgotten what she had told me.

“Correct. And the second was….?”

“...There are no vile people, just vile circumstances?” I was beginning to catch the meaning she was trying to lead me down. I didn’t necessarily want to accept it, but it was big sis….

She gave that small, hearty smile, the kind I saw out of her so little… It seemed to resume time, and perhaps even allowed it to grow a little brighter, even if it was only so wide.

“Yuri, im not going to treat you like a child. Because… Being a child really has nothing to do with age. You never were a child, you were always something more; being a child means seeing the world in two parts. Us vs them. Me and everyone else. Bad guys and good guys. God and the Devil.” I was agape at that explanation, as I absorbed her wisdom…

“Two gentlemen once argued over the natural state of human beings in the context of government. Thomas Hobbes argued that humans were naturally selfish and greedy- And thus required a decisive monarchy-, and John Locke believed that humans were more malleable, and thus required something more akin to a democracy.”

“But the truth is, for much as the two were discussed… They were both wrong. In a sense, they each had aspects correct, and im not claiming to know the whole, vast painting, but... In Hobbes time and all before it, he could be considered honestly truthful; humans were brutish, stupid, and inherently greedy. Yet, the ages would morph, and slowly meld into another form. In Locke’s age, a pleasant stream of hope could be found amongst the dreadful chorus of greed. Now, how could this be a reality? How could they both be right, but wrong?”

She seemed so intensely wrapped in that thought, I had never seen her more concentrated…

“The answer is simple. Hobbes was very much correct; when we lacked the proper infrastructure or materials to construct a society wherein positivity was a regular, individuals had to scamper for every scrap of comfort. Even kings lived like peasants do today; there cannot be a single wonder as to why charity was a passing notion, and even churches were institutions for sheer profit. A vice of raven’s talons was needed to dig into the selfish minds of those common folk.”

“As technology and society blossomed, so did living conditions, and so did everyday kindness. We could do away with that vice, and accept the comfort of restraints of feeble paper. People are mirrors, Yuri. When negativity is reflected into a person, they reflect negativity back. When positivity is reflected into a person, they reflect positivity back.”

“I’m not implying that those children should heed on without punishment, or that their hearts are of purest silk. I’m merely saying that you should always be open to forgiving, and always look for it. You should feel no hatred; perhaps there will come a time where you need to extract revenge for balance, but you should feel no joy or hatred in that action. That negativity had a source, and if they allow themselves to heal and allow an equal amount of positivity into their lives… They will heal. Adolf Hitler watched his country crumble and was rejected. Those bullies might go home hungry or take blows from their parents.”

“I could tell you they were evil people, I could. I could tell Mom and dad, and have the school punish them, I could. But what would that do? Their consequence would be furthermore negativity, and although it may change their behavior, it will not change their hearts. Perhaps they will refuse to heal, and perhaps they have already gazed into the abyss for far too long. But so long as they remain human… They will not be evil. They may be deserving of consequence, but never of hatred. Remember that, Yuri.”

And I did.

And I believe that, perhaps that's why I never really stayed mad as Natsuki.

Perhaps that's why I was reading side by side with her now.

Perhaps that's why I opened my heart to this tender volcano of fuschia.

* * *

 

> _ Sides _
> 
> _ They say there’s two sides two a coin. _
> 
> _ What about the third? _
> 
> _ What about that fourth? _
> 
> _ I know better. _

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brigid may seem pretty awesome here, but this is from Yuri's point of view. This is from the point of view who admires her family almost to a fault, and thats partially the reason why she's so detached... Imagine looking up to your mother, only to have her leave you. Imagine looking up to a sister who doesn't like to show emotions too much.
> 
> Although Brigid tries (And sometimes succeeds, like here) To be comforting, she ultimately isn't the best guardian for Yuri. She has a problem with expressing emotions, and although it may work in instances like this, it can be hard to really feel loved when the person looking after you doesn't smile that often, or even talk. She might be wise and cognizant, but being the only family Yuri knows anymore means she lacks that more tender aspect.
> 
> Despite this, I really like how the two play off each other. You can definitely see how Brigid helped to develop some of Yuri's flaws.


	11. Dip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki and Yuri have a little conversation while reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the infrequent updates, but if you're ever wondering where I am, i'm probably updating Fractured Pane! It's another work I do, and its Monuri! And everyone also has stands, and its great.
> 
> Also looking for a beta writer, so if you're interested go ahead and uh, comment below. I'll also probably need a way to contact you to share the google doc and talk about stuff so... Yep.

I think about halfway through reading the first chapter, I realized just how… Embarrassing it was to be sitting side by side with Yuri, reading like this. It hadn’t really crossed my mind, as I had been far too preoccupied with trying to explain my choice and some other idle chat with her, but we had settled down on a small sofa that was altogether two tiny for both of us to sit a sizeable distance apart, so we were pretty much touching. I could hear each softened breath, each delicate heartbeat. It was kind of freaky, to be honest- I never really got this close to anyone, Yuri especially. I guess at some point my mom might have held me, but I feel like any memories in that point have been dipped in some cloaked vitriol of black, and I can’t exactly tell if any memories that are there are actually real, or are something I completely fabricated from the offhanded stories papa sometimes mentions- From how little perception I manage to piece together, I think i’ll never know.

But it’s fairly nice, in a way. Yuri’s less of an obtrusive person forcing me to talk right now and more of just like… A comfortable presence. She understands that talking really isn’t necessary right now, as we’re both enveloped into our choices, for now.Yuri chose what seems like a mystery of sorts, although it’s already included some of the lighthearted elements I like. I don’t think I would have picked it out on my own, but its not altogether too bad. Just… Different. I guess you could really say that about Yuri herself, anyways.

But in other ways, that silence is excruciating, as although my saner aspects assured me against it I couldn’t help but think I had somehow done something wrong and appeared like a total weirdo- And that’s why she wasn’t talking. The fear ended up pulling me out of the book and combing through every piece of my memories of the past couple of minutes, only to find nothing. But that wasn’t enough to quell this feeling, mostly because I often ended up messing up social situations entirely by accident. I’d be talking with someone (Usually one of the club members, for obvious reasons) And i’d hear Monika chuckle and say that I was acting like a total weirdo or something like that in her usual prose. And ironically enough, this idle nagging sensation brought me to do something i’d generally consider being a total weirdo.

“...This is pretty fun, right?” I meant it as more of a declaration, but it came off as more questioning and weary than I wanted.

“Hmmm?” She seemed fairly absorbed into whatever she was reading, taking a while to compose her thoughts as she continued flicking through each page. “Well, assuredly. The most favorable way to enter a new hobby or medium is to have someone who knows you find the best way for you to soundly enjoy it.” 

_ Know  _ her? I almost scoffed at that one, but stopped myself from being too disrespectful. Sure, i’d like to think that I knew everything about her, that she was just some shy bookworm who had a penchant to talk too much and accidentally make fun of my interests, but if there’s one thing I had learned from today it’d be that I really shouldn’t give myself that much credit. Hell, i’d go ahead and say that the reason i’m such a loner is that I generalize everyone into being a shitbag and don’t even really let them talk to me. I’d tell her that, but wouldn’t that make me look weak? And… Well, it's embarrassing but I still wasn’t 100% sure that this wasn’t some ploy to fuck with me so like hell i’m going to be truthful about anything.

“Yeah. Like, I never thought i’d get into reading novels or playing chess or anything like that.” God, having to actually talk to people is so awkward. Usually by this point i’d have changed the subject or made up some excuse to run off, but I really can't do that with Yuri. 

“It also lets you share things you adore with the individuals you adore the most. Well, usually... I’ve always wanted to share fencing with someone else, but I can't imagine anyone at the club being into it.” Damn, this is exactly the reason I avoid long talks with Yuri. She’s just so much… More intelligent than me. Oh hey Natsuki, what are your interests? Oh, I read manga and bake and i’d probably run track and field if I didn’t feel like i’d kill someone on the first day after they made fun of my hair. Now let’s compare that to Yuri, who fences, plays chess, reads novels, and lives in a manor, for christs sake there is no way I can live up to this.

“You fence?” I’ll admit it's probably a terrible idea to take the conversation in this direction, but I really don’t have any other options regardless. I’m a total numbskull about this kind of stuff. I think it’s kind of like sword fighting? They wear those weird masks and jump around like they’re fleas, and i’m pretty sure it’s an olympic sport. Hmmm… Well, if there was someone I could say I could probably picture being on an olympic podium, it’d probably be Monika or Yuri. Monika mostly because she has the social skills in order to carefully work her way up there, and Yuri because she’s just so passionate about everything, if fairly shy. Sayori’s too much of a clutz, and i’d probably end up getting disqualified fairly early from any competition for throwing a few punches, so…

She nods, tapping her finger on the corner of the paperback as she works to bundle all her ideas together into one heap. “Quite often, but usually only with sis. I’ve participated in a number of competitions, but it’s really more so stress relief than anything, there’s a certain enthralling, tranquil aspect to the whirr of blades through the air or subtly outperforming your opponent and narrowly dodging a strike.” She seems so good at perceiving things, at divulging the most shrouded subtleties of any activity, the way she describes pretty much anything she’s interested in seems like she flows each and every feeling she has into her inflection, while I end up just assuming whomever i’m talking to understands. And… Yeah, ummm… Yuri’s sister. Right.

Yuri’s sister scares me, and that’s saying something. Even Monika doesn’t get anything but the occasional jitter out of me, and we’re talking about a girl who can isolate you from everyone in about two seconds flat, and push you out onto a lonely island surrounded by inky depths. (Although it's not like she’d be taking away much in the first place…) But Yuri’s sister… Sheesh. I don’t see much of her, which is honestly a relief. She’s usually just on the threshold of some event Yuri is participating at, although the only ones we share are the festivals. She’s an oily blot in the distance, the kind of person who sticks out but your brain tells you to overlook just because there’s something… Off… About them. I mistakenly addressed her as “Yuri’s mom” one time, and I swear that her stare embedded itself right into my eyes. She has a dangerous beauty to her like, like some sort of artisan knife- i’ll have to admit I sometimes sneaked glances, even if I really have never come to terms with actually finding girls attractive (Although it’s not like it’ll ever really be relevant, because like hell i’m going to find another person who is gay and also likes weirdos who probably have a whole myriad of psychological problems)

“Yeah, I get what you mean. Running for me is kind of like that. Sometimes you have to just… Busy yourself with something, and it helps when it's so physical.” She thumbs at the edge of the page, breaking her eyes off the page and staring down the aisle of bookcases. “Do you ever feel like… Maybe everyone in the literature club shares a sort of… Fatality to them?” There’s intrigue at the end of her question, like it's something she’s thought on quite a lot.

“...What do you mean by that?” I’m not really sure what she’s trying to say with “Fatality”, isn’t that just another word for a casualty in war? I guess there are a lot of things that some of us have in common, like that we’re all hopeless dorks. Well, probably besides Monika….

“I mean that… We all share a certain helplessness. A certain listlessness in the face of our future and our destiny. I’m not too keen on the matter, but… I’ve come to realize we all have something yanking us along, some iron vice we would rather do without.” I stop for a bit, just continuing to hear that aimless whispering of her breaths and ever so faint bubble of a heartbeat. I feel a prick of anxiety from that statement. Did she know? But then…. Well… She must not. I think there’s two types of people who always try to deal with an issue like mine: they either try to distance themselves from me, or try to help without knowing that there’s no possible way they can. Yuri is still being reasonable, so I don’t really think she could know. Besides, she’s talking more of the group generally, that we all have some sort of issue controlling us. And well, it's not that hard to tell there’s  _ something  _  wrong with me.

“...Really? I mean, I can get me, I guess. I can kind of be a bitch sometimes, but Sayori is just an adorable goof, you’re well… You’re you, and Monika is just kinda cold sometimes.” They all have something I don’t. Something that I want, a shining gem of beauty within them that i’ll never have. Sayori’s kindness, Monika’s charisma, Yuri’s elegance….

She shakes her head, and i’m pretty lucky that I only partially get smacked in the face by her hair. “No i’d… Advise you to look a little closer. I think perhaps we may have been drawn to one another because we each have our bindings, and we each, perhaps, hold a key to those bindings. We all try to hide it, by different methods, but the issues are still there.” I still don’t really see it, but the way she puts so much emotion into every one of her words… Makes me want to believe her.

“...Okay. If you’re right, then what is there for us to do about it? If we all have some fucked up thing, how do we fix them?” I guess maybe a part of me would probably be angry by this point, but Yuri’s like a crystalline pond of cold water, one that cools you and calms you down.

“...Sis always said that you cannot begin to heal until you allow yourself to be healed. I suppose the first step would be admitting that those problems exist in the first place, not just to yourself but to the people who care about you. And well, that will be monstrously difficult, I believe. It's just as much on the hands of the people confronting them as the people confessing, as it is not until we truly feel like those people are almost like an extension of ourselves that we will ever allow healing to begin. Even now, there is some secretive part of me that could not even begin to unwind, even if I look upon others and wish for them to do so.” I think…. I think something in that resonates with me. I don’t know, i’d love to scream “My dad abuses me” from the tops of the heavens. That is, if anyone would understand. Like I said, if I told anyone they wouldn’t actually know how to fix it, they’d just coddle and baby over me and treat me like a huge wimp. They don’t know that i’m stuck between a rock and a hard place, and that losing the bastard will result in a life about as bad as having him.Will I ever find that person that Yuri is talking about?

Well… I don’t really know, I guess. I think before this conversation, i’d have said no, but there’s a certain nagging angel on my shoulder that is saying “Keep your eyes open, dummy… Anything can happen.” At the very least, im less of a pathetic loner today, after i’ve truly made another friend, along with Sayori.

* * *

_ Dip _

_ Take a dip, take a sip. _

_ It’s a pool of collection. _

_ It’s always there, it’s always fair. _

_ It’s crystalline calmness. _

_ I never saw it, I never dawned on it. _

_ It’s my purple haze. _

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's really interesting the moods where I feel like writing Fractured Pane, and the moods where I feel like writing passerby. They have very different... Well, atmospheres to them, and at first when I was starting to make Fractured Pane I thought it was going to consume this one but i've been surprised to feel that I have lapses where I alternate between the two. One is more action and plot oriented, while this one is just kinda... Introspective, I guess. Not saying Fractured Pane isn't that, but I was having trouble writing the last fractured pane chapter and I decided to come over here and it flowed a lot better.
> 
> And whew, touching on some stuff I talked about all the way back in chapter 1 (As well as one of Brigid's mantras that was talked about in chapter 10). I should really re-read this thing at some point but i'm kind of dreading doing it :P


	12. Lock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki and Yuri's library romp continues, before something unfortunate happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 200 Kudos and 3000 hits! Thanks everyone! This is a.... Huge milestone.
> 
> And thanks to Comtesse, for beta reading this chapter!
> 
> Comments are always appreciated.

The idle discussion and casual banter seemed to continue for an eternity. Not that the time was particularly aggravating or even distasteful in the slightest; it was actually quite pleasurable, at least comparatively so to virtually every other exchange I usually had with Natsuki. It merely seemed to exceed my expectations wholly in terms of substance and length.

Eventually, the insightful exchange seemed to slowly dwindle, and any replies I received were vague mumbles. I supposed that she might have finally tired of my dull introspective routine, so I respected her decision and let the air rest on what seemed to be a somewhat uneasy tone while we both read.

Natsuki had been very open to musing over my vague questioning, and although it wasn’t particularly surprising that she had the capacity to do so (considering she may have more footing than I in quite a many subjects) what shocked me was her willingness to do so in the first place. Although I may not have delved too deeply into the inscrutable, gelid depths of any personal details, I did happen to ask queries which prodded at the threshold of those ideas or at least implied them. 

Whether she accepted the conversation because she acknowledged its more repulsive aspects and accepted them or merely overlooked them remained to be seen; but regardless, I held a tiny point of pride that my more so meticulous method held success in cracking her reinforced, volcanic shell compared to Sayori’s head-on approach or Monika’s underhanded schemes. It would remain only a minor medal on my lapel.

Of course, the brief exposure into whatever tenderness lied underneath her façade was certainly terse, or at least speaking comparatively to my deranged fantasy of an extended conversation with that inner self of hers. But I was reasonably content, and I enveloped myself into her choice of literature until a shallow breath caught my attention, spaced at regular, narrow intervals. It was evident of…

Sleeping?

I slipped a bookmark to mark the page we'd left off on, savoring the sound of the rustling papers and the final drumbeat of the covers as I closed the book. I then shifted my attention to the girl beside me.

My ears had not deceived me. She was sleeping, with head bent slightly to lean on my shoulder, and a profound calmness to her; so far removed from her usual demeanor, almost like comparing a wolf to a rabbit. She seemed to teeter on that narrow threshold between bliss and waking, and although I could feel rising cinders in my cheeks and some more anxious aspect to myself internally screaming, I bid my time and stood agape in the spectacle that was the light, dainty frame of her face without aggression sullying its merit.

Some bleeding edge of my consciousness drew me away from that striking visage, perhaps hoping to avoid the possibility of her rousing while I looked on like some sort of admirer. If I remembered correctly, this had become a somewhat regular occurrence within club time: some comatose state instilled by… Something. Didn’t Monika know more about that?

* * *

 

**Yuri:** Hey.

**Monika:** What’s up?

**Yuri:** Why does Natsuki have those… Lapses into unconsciousness?

**Monika:** Oh uh, those? Yeeeeah I don’t really know. When she was signing up for club, she had to list any medical conditions, like allergies or migraines, stuff like that.

**Monika:** She didn’t write anything down, but came to me and half-mumbled something about malnutrition and low blood sugar and how she couldn’t afford lunch or something.

**Monika:** So I started bringing snacks and stuff in my bag just in case.

**Monika:** Oh darn, one of those didn’t happen on your date, did it? That’s unfortunate.

**Yuri:** It’s not a date.

**Monika:** Oh, lighten up! Date can mean just a little outing between friends… You’re the one who perceived it that way ;)

**Yuri:** That’s shoddy logic, and you know it.

**Yuri:** And I think Sayori is rubbing off on you, you used “Darn” there.

**Monika:** So what if she is? Darn is a perfectly acceptable substitute for swears.

**Yuri:** It makes you seem like a socially crippled male college student who isn’t assertive enough to use the proper exclamations but isn’t conscious enough to do away with them entirely.

**Monika:** That’s…. An oddly specific comparison.

**Yuri:** It works.

**Monika:** Well, you better find her some sort of snack, pretty soon…

**Yuri:** Monika, I don’t tote around protein bars in my purse, especially since they end up devolving into sludge in warmer climates.

**Monika:** You better start if you’re going to be hanging around Natsuki so much.

**Monika:** It’s going to be like the kiss that wakes Sleeping Beauty…

**Monika:** Except it’s a snack and the feelings are “ _ Totally _ ” platonic.

**Yuri:** Why don’t I just offer her lunch.

**Yuri:** I have an excess of affluence, so great I could support several other people fully, much less one… Starved girl.

**Monika:** What, you think she’s going to let you buy her something? Do you know anything about her?

**Monika:** Accepting that is like, a sign of weakness to her, idunno. I barely get her to take protein bars.

**Yuri:** That’s…. Fairly flawed logic.

**Monika:** I dare you to try to explain that to her.

**Yuri:** Sigh.

**Monika:** I swear, if you manage to get her to accept any kind of meal you’ll be a miracle worker.

**Monika:** We should have you buy a bunch of lottery tickets or something.

**Monika:** Or wait, didn’t you call the lottery an idiot tax one time? You probably said it super verbose-like, though.

**Monika:** “I do daresay, good madam, if you happen to partake in the activity that happens to involve substituting various monies for an unlikely chance at exponential returns, it is quite a folly exercise that only subsists to extract income from dullards.”

**Monika:** Was I accurate?

**Yuri:** I hate you.

**Monika:** <3

* * *

 

I sighed, combing my hair through my fingers- what an obtuse habit to quell my anxiety, that electrifying snake that strikes me from the shadows. I had inherited it from Brigid’s reassurance, but lately I had been trying to stray from it, after everyone around me had taken notice of its significance.

She was still lightly dazing, dainty fingers faintly grasping at the air in some phantom movement of sleep. Even if I knew it was futile, I had to try to offer her some sort of nourishment; after all, who was I to lounge at my high perch above most of society, without even offering some recompense for a friend? I softly shook her, and she began mumbling something about a bloody hand before her eyes shuttered open like a camera lens.

“Mmm...Mhmmm… Yuri…..” She didn’t seem fully transitioned into the waking world, still caught in a half-lidded haze. It seemed to extend much longer than I knew that transition ought to, and I deduced it as some greasy fog from her condition.

“Natsuki, do you… Um… Want to eat something? At my house.” She seemed ready to devolve back into drowsy apathy, before I lightly jabbed at her arm.

She blinked a few times, yawning, before the central processing of her mind blinked on with an almost audible whirr and she adopted an aggravated expression, though I could also detect a hint of embarrassment. I sympathized with her greatly; falling asleep against a friend must be deathly shameful. Her furious look contrasted with her frazzled bed-hair, and I almost giggled softly at the sheer difference. “I-” She started with a scornful tone, before a low growl emerged from her stomach and she grimaced, a wave of discomfort quickly appearing and then passing as she smothered it in its infancy.

She seemed to contemplate my offer for a moment, before coming to a conclusion. “F-fine. Just, don’t make a big deal out of it, okay? It’s just this once.” I resisted the urge for the edge of my mouth to curl into a mellow smile, as inwardly I celebrated. This victory wasn’t particularly from my own efforts, but I could still extract some sort of satisfaction from telling Monika that I had achieved the impossible.

I decided to settle on nodding, making a conscious effort to cease the fidgeting with my hair, which made me look like a total moron. I eventually just stood, resting my hands behind my back to rob myself of even the option. “Shall we depart, then?” I almost recoiled from the pride lining my voice. I sounded like a seismometer visualized, a shaky line of ups and downs.

“Yeah.” She agreed, standing as I began to walk down the aisle. She stumbled a bit, gaining her footing as she glanced around to check if I noticed. I pretended to be ignorant, only gleaning the scene from the corner of my eye. She seemed to exhale a bit in relief before lightly jogging to catch up with me.

We strolled back out into the rainy veil. I extended my umbrella and she darted under it, and we began to share that shadowy island from the rest of the world for a few moments again. The silence was almost of the same quality that I share with Brigid, a knowing exchange without ever speaking, merely communicating through presence and familiarity with one another- But only almost. A very real disparity existed, a shadowy ravine of woes and unknowns, and as such the silence became excruciating, digging at my own tender ravines, coiling around every oily reflection and whispering bitter nothings. I yearned for its end, to rekindle some spark of conversation which wards off those debilitating thoughts, those fears and low rumbles of anxiety.

“...Are you doing anything tomorrow?” She seemed a bit taken aback by that question and tried to hide it by shoving her hands into her pockets and gazing off into the distance- but it only managed to draw me closer into her face, noting the pale silkiness of her skin and the contemplation beneath her façade.

“I did, but this rain mucked everything up.” It was obvious that she was lying, but I didn’t press her about it. After all, I knew the sickening throb of knowing you have absolutely nothing planned for a day, left to your own tedium as any activities faded into listlessness after the truth of your isolation dawned upon you.

“Do you… Want to go with me, somewhere? There’s this waterfall I know about and…” I trailed off, waiting for some confirmation to my errant windings.

She scoffed a bit at that, and I could feel some part of my heart plummet as I began to withdraw back into myself. “Sounds dorky.” I stayed silent for those moments, realizing my idiocy in even asking, until she inexplicably added: “I’m in.” I thought for a moment- something in my heart had shattered, for it was pulled from one extreme to another, all by this fragile bundle of mystery. It began fluttering with some inordinate insanity, and I allowed myself a minute smile.

“What are you smiling about, you dummy? I’m only doing this so I can bug you about it later.” She gave me a toothy grin, reflecting one particularly disproportionate canine in the mellow blues of the atmosphere, before jokingly shoving me. It had a surprising amount of force behind it, before I remembered that not many people saw the same girl I saw now: most only saw the girl who was nearly undefeated in fights, who would lunge with wild abandon and relinquish any ounce of her humanity to win. A girl who only by some miracle was even still enrolled, or perhaps… Intervention by some sort of manipulator? Of course, being friends with Monika always had benefits.

But it was a right shame, a shame that ebbed to my core. It was partially her fault that this stigma had blossomed, yes. But would it do the world some harm to peer beneath the coats of wrathful orange, and see the elegant blue beneath? That perfect, tender blue of a pure soul.

“Hmmm, perhaps I’ll employ Sayori, then? She is the ‘bulli police’, after all,” I japed, as we began entering my car. “Pffh, as if. Even someone as rich as you couldn’t afford her rates. I swear, she sure eats a lot for someone so small.” I couldn't help but notice the irony in that statement, but I left it hanging in its course. Why would I disturb the miracle I worked so hard to procure?  

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure if I told her you were going to stop giving her cupcakes, she would work for free.” We were finally getting into the car, feeling the last tender drops bleed into me, before I said my goodbyes to the rain and we started off.

“You… Wouldn’t!” That banter seamlessly continued, and I don’t think I’ve ever had humor stifle laughter out of me more than she did.

It was bliss.

* * *

  
  


_ Lock _

_ A rusted lock, bound to the edge of a bridge. _

_ Another lock is bound beside it. _

_ They hope to flee, but the time has passed. _

_ The locks are rooted in place. _

_ Forever. _


	13. Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natsuki continues to Yuri's house, and remembers a bittersweet memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! I just got... Preoccupied, I guess! Fractured pane chapter coming soon, and then maybe something unrelated to DDLC.

There was a rabbit in my heart, and it jumped and leaped and shook with all the fury and anxiousness that you would probably find in an animal that was stuck in an organ- Hah. I don’t know exactly what tossed about my feelings, and plummeted my confidence in my decision to all-time lows as I felt every scrap of my mind be dragged into jumbled worries.

I regretted my decision to say yes. Really, it's ironic that you’d think saying “No” to people would jitter a soul far more than agreeing ever would, and maybe for average people it's that way; actually, I’m sure it is. I’m sure it's just another thing that separates me from everyone else, that makes me some sort of outcast for some reason or another, but I find saying “No” infinitely easier than saying yes. And in that half-lidded haze of faintly rousing from a food coma, some better part of myself had been suffocated and plucked far away, and all that was left was pink. The old me, the me from a time before I tried so defiantly to kill and bury any shred of a girl who liked to bake with her mom.

But, well- Killing the past isn’t so easy. And killing yourself is even harder.

And now, by some twisted and warped hand of fate it's become so difficult to even begin to grasp and form my mouth into that one, ultimate and powerful word- “No.” It’s something that gave me authority and some presidence, where others could be dragged into something merely by the fallacy of not wanting to upset someone, I could say “No” whenever I wanted. Well, until now.

I didn’t exactly know what it was. Was it the fact that we must be halfway to her house already, and every gap of space we drive further past that other, damnable place would cement myself as either some irritable jackass or frenetic lunatic who changes her mind every five seconds? Was it the fact that denying an invitation to her house might further cloud my reputation in Brigid’s eyes, of which I held an irrational fear even if I might only glimpse at her once every other month? Or was it that for some forlorn reasoning, I had firmly clutched at this other sad and pitted girl, and maybe some deeper trace of my psyche really just wanted some more conversation with her, before I had to shed my facade of strength, heading back to the dread I knew?

Regardless, as we finally branched away from familiarity, from that isolated Oregon town I had hardly left or really known, I knew the blot in my stomach could not be tugged any deeper by gravity. It was a common whispering that Yuri was rich, although she didn’t particularly care to flaunt it. When you first sighted her she would seem decidedly plain, perhaps with an air of mystery and a dash of noir to her that meant she might not appear out of place either with a trenchcoat and hat or a flowing robe signaling some scholarly visage. You’d only notice after you recognized a book she carried as an elusive signed copy worth more than any fancy accessories she could adorn herself with, or happened to tie her last name to a bestselling novel written by her mother, only to have her recede deeper into seclusion when asked about either.

And it could be said that her ancestral home also expressed the same efforts- made from a vast pool of wealth, but in a way not made to make it obvious. (Or he was too lazy…) By most accounts it would be considered a manor, and a gothic one at that, with pointed spires, gargoyles, and wrought iron. But in the same vein I also thought it was not particularly inspiring.

The place gave me chills, and I was conflicted on whether it was its similarity to the cliché haunted houses on the variety of crummy horror flicks I had amassed over the years, or its faint tickling at a memory. Memories that I’d much rather burn, incinerate with the same gnawing flames that I’m sure the pictures were consumed with. But… Well, I said this already, didn’t I?

You’d think that I’d cherish any memories of my mother, that I’d clutch them to my heart, that I’d sneer at my old man for throwing out every picture of her. But, really? I hate them. I hate them as much as I hate him, and I hate her more than I hate him. I hate them because every time I happen upon them, and I feel that same subtle tingling of nostalgia and happiness, I hate myself. I hate myself because those aren’t feelings I want to feel, not for anyone- But especially not for her. What my father does is irredeemable- But what she did? Any present scar I bear, internal or external is from her, and we sit dejected and alone to ourselves while she is god knows where with god knows who. I hate that I still love her, and I hate that I thought she loved me.

I don’t know how long it was ago. Every moment since those years seems to slip away into a cosmic drain.

I was sitting with her in the kitchen, nestled in her lap as the adorable ball of pink floof I was. It's odd, how in memories even the colors seem to change, somehow imbued with a certain warmth and brilliance, a flickering flame upon a candle or raging softly within a hearth. I’m aware that the wholesome warmth of the sky and the sun on that day couldn’t have been so, because I never see it again, even on the same sunny days in August while I sit in the same place, loathing myself while I hopelessly grasp at those feelings for the fifteenth time. Maybe it's just because of the filth that has accumulated on the windows, but even if I washed it- It’d still be the same. Maybe I just can't feel the light anymore.

She was showing me a photo album- Europe. Italy, Germany, England- I’ve forgotten the names of the rest, and I think I used to know them all by heart. She was a travel buff, and she emanated passion and the same childish sense of wonder I did every time she gushed about it, and all the tiny creases on her face and in her eyes seemed to lift when she talked about every individual site with such detail like it was the day she visited. I’d gasp, mouth agape at the sight of every cathedral and castle, every river and lake. And she was always there in those photos, a younger woman, with energy in her heart I had never seen even then, with a goofy smile, clunky camera and pink hair glittering and pulled back into pigtails. She’d talk about how even if she never spent long anywhere, she never forget those places. She was a free bird, and she was always migrating.

Maybe that’s why she couldn’t take any more than fifteen years with him.

And inevitably, that memory of happiness was tied to another. Duality, balance. I don’t know how long this one was ago, either- But it had to have been recent. Recent because that same room somehow felt impossibly different, and shrouded in a bittersweet agony. I sat in that same chair, clumsily twirling a cap to a drink to keep myself occupied as I remembered that memory, trying to extract whatever diminishing returns of happiness I could from it.

I heard the front door open with that unmistakable creak, and I already knew who it was. I heard faint mumbling, the jangle of keys. Normally by this point I might scurry off to not risk confrontation, or I might suddenly make an excuse to exit the same door he had entered through. But that day, I was imprisoned within that memory, too enthralled, eyes glazed and trapped with the most false sense of tenderness. He paused, silently standing near the threshold to the kitchen, his usually imposing frame seeming to crumble against the light, as I was.

He shuffled over to the chair beside me, and sat. I offered no reaction, continuing to stare at the blemished wall ahead of me.

“I’m sorry.” Was all he offered, but I think maybe those words broke my heart for what must be the thousandth time.

I finally broke eye contact with the wall, only to clutch the cap in my hand with enough vice to cause some pain, before letting out a miserable yell and chucking it as hard as I could against a far wall, watching it clink off harmlessly and clatter to the chipped tile floor.

“No, I am.”

Coming back to reality from those moments isn’t quite as painful or jarring as it usually is. Ordinarily, I find myself lost in a hazy trance, a golden fog clinging to me as if corrupting my thoughts. But this time I stopped myself, and stood as some sort of bulwark in the face of those feelings. I made sure to only highlight those memories in the slightest light as they drifted to the forefront of my mind. I’ve gotten a lot better at this as time has gone on- There used to be times where I seemed completely detached, and I’d stare off in class or at lunch after I somehow tied this life to that one before, even if they are worlds apart. But now, it was hardly noticeable that I was gripped again by those times, as I straightened my face and forced the same stoic expression I put on for nearly everything.

Yuri was finally pulling up the winding path, the errant snake of smooth and silken concrete so dissimilar to the weathered, if more natural roads of my neighborhood. We slipped past the pine trees like bones grasping at the sky, and the muddy, bloodied ground beneath, which was still wet from the downpour that persisted today. Our conversation ran a similar course to our drive, twisting and somewhat dizzying but still level, still average and predictable. But it was nice, and I relished it for some moments before I was stabbed by another knife and I remembered how nice it was to talk to Mom.

“Place looks like a crypt.” I joked. “How long has it been in your family?” I added, leaning against the black leather of the car door, watching each droplet glisten and streak down the window, how its ordinarily clear color turned a brilliant blue when the tears of sky wetted it.

She focused her eyes, running her tongue over the top of her teeth in contemplation as she offhandedly drove in wide, sweeping motions. “Several generations. -Well, I could, erm- Delve into specifications, but it wouldn’t be germane in the slightest. I’d doubt you would care about the exact conditions on which it was built.” She seemed knowledgeable on the subject, and that didn’t surprise me. Yuri always seemed a bit nosy, and it was annoying but still quite admirable in some aspects. She didn’t do it to be a nuisance, but she seemed captured in every moment, awed at anything she could learn and consume with her ravenous eyes. I was always a person who didn’t care about anything so long as it didn’t affect me- After all, I didn’t want anyone to grasp into my heart or mind and fish out any deeper secrets.

Or maybe it was because she had ruined that for me.

I always asked her if I’d ever get to go there- To see those places, to run my grubby little hands over every intricate carving and every gnawed and somewhat laughable gargoyle or sphinx. And she always said yes- And with a light chuckle, she’d say she wouldn’t want anything more than to share those sites she loved with her little bubblegum. I’d read, wide-eyed, in the school library, wanting to find anything I could about those places. I’d surprise her about everything I’d learned, and she’d gleam at my acquisitions and somehow teach me even more. I wanted to know everything, but I also wanted to see everything.

I’ve almost never left this town.

I snickered, offering a feral grin as I traced my finger across the glass and drew a frowny face. “You’re right about that. It’s old, but it’s impressive. Do you still have all the modern stuff?” I sustained that partial mask of boredom in this conversation, as I did in pretty much every one (Well, the ones where my primary emotion wasn’t anger). It wasn’t that I didn’t care for what she had to say on the topic; it’s just that if you show you don’t care, they won't expect anything out of you and you can always retreat without any bindings holding you there.

She nodded, showing a bit of irritation at the idea that she might be some sort of Victorian idiot from the seeming age of her home, but kept it largely to herself. “Renovations were quite frequent in my childhood. -My mother, she wanted to preserve every scrap of history she could find. She even tried to keep much of the change from our manor, more focused on preserving rather than updating, but my father was a very effective counterbalance to her insistence on archaic philosophies. He didn’t care for modernization either, but it was more about making sure Brigid and I had the most rewarding childhood possible, and we didn’t grow to be isolated from the current times.” Upon mentioning her father, I could almost see shadows pool under her eyes and her steadfast grip on the steering wheel loosen. I felt some innate connection in those moments, before I blinked and I swore my eyes had been playing tricks on me.

I had to admit, I was a bit curious- I had never seen her mom or her dad, but it really wasn’t my place to ask. Especially since I would throw a fit if anyone asked me the same. So I stayed quiet for a moment, and decided to continue the conversation in a less… Troublesome direction. “What’s for dinner, anyways? Since you wanted me to come oh so badly.” I gave a mocking smile, pulling off the door and leaning all the way back in my seat.

“Well, it depends. Brigid and I usually decide together, a sort of mutual poll on what sounds scrumptious- We do have an extensive pantry. When we have guests, they draft their own picks, so I suppose it’ll be partially your choice. Perhaps I should be asking you the question?” She smiled a bit at that jape, a gentle pull on the edges of her mouth that helped to bring a glimmering beauty to the pale ends of her face, a small sparkle on what was usually a quite grim complexion.

I scoffed at that, stretching out as she swiveled to the right of her manor, down an incline and into the garage as it opened automatically, a gaping maw located just beneath her home. I was welcomed into the place by a dim automatic light flooding over the sterile place- It vaguely smelled of gasoline, leather, and perhaps even a more lingering, minor smell of rustic, aged wood or the crinkled yellowed pages of a tome even older than I am. Papa’s garage was clumsy, crowded with spilling trinkets or the few photo albums and keepsakes he couldn’t bear to burn. The place hardly had a worming, claustrophobic path to walk through, much less drive- So he kept the piece of shit he called a car in the driveway, and it’s not as if I had a car of my own. But this place was immaculate. Well, perhaps some small imperfections to the floor, narrow cracks and a slight discoloration where some chemical might have spilled, but Brigid’s car, and the two motorbikes and their racks of accessories were all very clean, if slightly ruffled and messy to show their use.

That’s probably what caught my eye as soon as we entered- The bikes. I’ve always ridden a bike of some kind, whether it was the glittery pink one Mom gave me or my current, aflame one that I scrounged together from some errant cash. I think I’ve grown attached to the things in a way; I used to despise them, and they were just another pitiful replacement I had to make in my life from my situation, but I think there’s a certain methodic, innate rush to not being enclosed on all sides by choking metal, to feel the flowing nature of the wind grip you or the soothing renewal of rain. It’s catharsis, probably- that’s one of my solaces, my islands. When a somber memory creeps from the blackest roses in my heart or I add another bruise to the collection, violence never is a bad choice for stress relief. Maybe it’s ironic that I’d be so barbaric if I hold so much content against those who try the same against me, but it's always justified.

….Probably.

Of course, I wasn’t going to pedal forever. I had every intention of escaping this town, and this lifestyle…. Somehow. I didn’t see myself in the slightest being a proactive person who pours all their effort into a triathlon for no reason, or someone who rides to work on a bicycle and spouts some drivel about saving the planet or being fit. No, when I got out of…. This- I’d get a motorcycle. It’d only contribute to the increasing stigma that I’m a punk or a rebel of some kind, but it’s less about being different and more about relieving stress- I don’t give a shit about being deviant. I’d rather just fit in and have people leave me the fuck alone.

It wasn’t really surprising that Yuri shared some portion of the same vision. It probably wasn’t for catharsis, for the rush- If she was a person who had any violent tendencies, she certainly didn’t show them off casually. No, I’m sure it was more for breathing in the world, how she seems to gobble up every shred of atmosphere she can. It’s probably the same reason why I’ve watched her stand in the school courtyard on a pouring day where it feels like the neverending shower will choke you, and come to the next class soaked and somewhat embarrassed but still with an edge of relief and awe to her. Brigid might have been the same, but I didn’t care at all to try to analyze her and justify my reasoning. It might have just been to become further intimidating, which she surely didn’t need considering just a glare would suffice.

“Cool bike.” I said briskly, hopping out of the car to stare out into the downpour of blues, to watch the scene of otherworldly hues and breathe in the earthy, enhanced smell of forest before the garage door finally shut, more with a whimper than a resounding echo.

She nodded, looking over with an expectant face as if waiting for me to ask something, before awkwardly turning back to the car and locking it, shuffling over to the exit door. “...Erm, yeah…”

She creaked open the wooden door and slipped through, pausing at the threshold to hold it. I stood motionless, continuing to stare out through the hazy translucent portions in the garage door, completely enveloped in my thoughts.

Today really had been a crazy day. Eating dinner with someone I….. Well, hate isn’t the right word. Dislike? That seems lighter.

I allow myself a small curl at the corner of my lips, only because my back is turned. I hear a cough, before more brisk strides from her.

“I’ll just…. Leave the door here for you, I guess.”

_Bird_

_A bird wants to fly and find new horizons._

_It’s told it can until it finally has the wings to do so._

_Then it tumbles._

_Tumble._

_Tumble._

_Splat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make Natsuki's father into more of a character- He seems to get portrayed as just an evil, evil person all the time. And, well- That's partially true, he does beat his child while drunk. But its not as if that's his only characteristic, or that some people are THAT damnable. He has to feel guilty, and he has to have a reason for it. And... Well, this is a LOT more interesting. Tell me what you think, but i've noticed a trend where he seems to be portrayed as a devil of a man, even going so far as to attempt/succeed rape on Natsuki/ another girl. Some people ARE like that, but it doesn't make for an interesting character if all they are is a devil, at least in my eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> First work, so give feedback if you have any. I'll be looking at comments. I really like my words, so sorry if the brevity is lacking.


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